The Narrows
by riotoftime
Summary: Zoro is an upstate New York detective with a much more sinister side. Fed up with criminals slipping through the cracks of justice, he has taken matters into his own hands. However, instinct prevents him from following through with his newest victim and nothing goes according to plan.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This fic is inspired by and alludes to the TV series Dexter. It depicts graphic violence and dark themes, such as violence, gore, death (non-major character), and imprisonment. It also will depict sexual themes and experiences, both implied and graphic. Zoro and Sanji are 26 in this fic and everyone else is aged up accordingly. It is ZoSan and will have hints of other pairings, such as LawLu and Frobin. The cover art was made by the awesome aevium.

* * *

Chapter One

"Fuck!"

He frowns at the red stain forming on the chest of his white button-up. Fumbling for his napkin, he almost knocks over his water as he rushes to blot the smudge that's ruining his best shirt. After a few minutes of scrubbing, he concedes that the ketchup has bested him, returning to his watch and his lunch.

Patrons enter and exit the old seafood shack endlessly; it's lunch rush and the restaurant's reputation is high amongst casual diners who need a quick bite on the go. Finishing off the last of his fish and chips, he can understand why. Probably the freshest seafood anyone can get without having to travel to the coast.

Parked inconspicuously in the lot across the street, he continues to observe the joint. This has been his routine for the last four or five days. Jotting notes of the patronage, the peak hours, and the staff's day-to-day, he makes sure anything and everything relevant is scribbled across his pad.

The vibration of his cell phone interrupts his vigil and he grimaces as he reads the name flashing across the screen.

"What?" he answers, peering back at the busy street ahead of him.

"Where are you?" the voice on the other end of the receiver grumbles.

"Busy." He licks his finger and tries to scrub the spot on his shirt but its hopeless. "What do you want?"

"Mihawk wants you down here. You'll be late for court," Law sighs, both annoyed and resigned to the fact that he's almost always late for court.

"Gotta buy a new shirt. Be there soon."

He hangs up the phone before the other man can even protest. With one last look at the establishment, Zoro puts his car in gear and heads out to find the closest store.

* * *

Zoro dumps his shoulder bag on his desk amongst a mountain of papers before dropping into his office chair, weary from a long day in court. Gathering his documents neatly to finish his reports, he doesn't even raise his head to acknowledge Law and Mihawk entering the workspace.

"What's the excuse this time?" Mihawk inquires half-heartedly. Zoro knows full well he's only there out of duty as Sergeant of their department, not because he actually cares that Zoro was a little late.

"Had to get a new shirt. Spilled some shit on mine."

"Since when do you care?" Law pipes in from his desk situated in the opposite corner of the room. He's occupied that space since before Zoro joined on as a detective and was assigned to be Law's partner. A bookshelf crammed full of literature and research of varying subjects sits to his left, overstuffed to the impossible degree of making their small office look even smaller. Zoro's desk is in the other corner near the door, usually clear of any clutter but their recent caseload has caused him to get a little behind on paperwork.

"Since I got chewed out last time I went to court with a stain," Zoro sneers with a contemptuous glance at their boss. Dracule Mihawk may not care about punctuality but to hell with anyone who might show up looking anything less than immaculate. Well-trimmed goatee, clothes always ironed, and never a hair out of place – it's almost exhausting just looking at him. Despite this, Zoro respects him wholly. Mihawk has a presence that not many other men have, one that exudes confidence and demands reverence. There has been a long-standing rumor around the precinct that he'd been offered position of Homicide Lieutenant several times over but he'd always turned it down. Given his calm intensity, Zoro understood why they'd want him. Mihawk is the ideal person to call in for the dirtiest of crime scenes, followed only by himself and Law. He's sure that's why the Sergeant rides their asses so much.

Mihawk nods, accepting Zoro's answer. Turning to head out the door, he pauses before his exit, "Make sure your reports are on my desk by morning. You too, Trafalgar."

They both grumble in acknowledgment as he closes the wooden door to their office. The room settles in an amicable silence accompanied with the random shuffling of papers. As dull as he may be, Zoro is glad that Law is his partner. The other man has never chided him for small talk, so they work together pretty peacefully.

An hour passes and he's finishing his last report when Law clears his throat, a telling sign that he wants Zoro's attention. Zoro looks up and finds the man's desk cleared, his folders neatly stacked.

"I have dinner plans," he says plainly.

Zoro nods, only half-interested before realization hits. Law's a workaholic and a recluse – preferring to spend his time crammed in their tiny office or with a very select group of friends. If he has dinner plans, that means…

"Luffy?"

Law nods as he stands up, briefcase already slung over shoulder and paperwork under arm. The man is impressively tall, but very slender. His long limbs accentuate his height, making him appear even lankier than he already is. He's depressing to look at, dark bags ever-present under his eyes from the hours he puts in at the precinct. Tattoos cover his arms and hands, evidence of his teenage criminality. He says he keeps them to remind himself why he left his old life to become a cop.

"8:30 at Shakky's?"

Law gives him a peculiar look, his normally hazel eyes darkened to a steely grey. A moment passes between them before Law's stern face grimaces.

"We better get going."

* * *

"I'm telling you, a bear would definitely beat a shark."

"No way! Sharks live in water. They got the upper hand."

Zoro rolls his eyes as he takes a swig from his beer, watching Luffy and Usopp bicker over their typical bullshit. The two of them are always going on about something or another. Law, situated across the table from him, frowns into his Jack and Coke, brooding as always. It's obvious he didn't expect this to be a group outing.

"It doesn't make sense, Luffy. Why would a shark be in fresh water where a bear is? If he was, that means he's probably been weakened and a bear could take him out."

Luffy opens his mouth to reply but closes it immediately, giving Zoro a begging glance. Zoro shrugs – he has no fucking clue – and Luffy's shoulders sag in defeat. "Damn man… shut up."

Usopp laughs and flags down the waitress for another round of drinks. The four of them hang out at this bar pretty regularly. It used to be mostly Zoro, Usopp, and Luffy until Law somehow came into the picture. Surprisingly, it wasn't Zoro who introduced him to their group of friends. Luffy had met him somewhere, became fast friends, and started inviting him out. Zoro was shocked when they ran into each other for the first time at a party. He saw enough of that grim bastard at work.

"Long day at work?" Usopp asks as the waitress walks away with their drink order. "Didn't see you at all."

Usopp works in File Management at their station. It's a quiet job, administrative with lots of filing and organization. Zoro tries to visit him when he can, even if it's just to wave hello. He knows the other man gets bored pretty easily, especially since budget cuts decided that the whole file room is only a one-person job.

"Lots of paperwork," he answers, taking the final swig of his beer and placing the mug at the edge of the table. "And court."

"Any verdicts?" Luffy pounces at the mention of court, bouncing in his seat. He hits Law's shoulder, causing the man to slosh his drink on his cell phone lying on the table. Law jabs Luffy in the ribs with a sharp elbow, provoking Luffy to howl in pain and the bartender to glare at them from across the room. Usopp waves apologetically and leans across the table, squawking at Luffy to shut up.

Grinning in bemusement, unsure why he even hangs out with these idiots, Zoro's eyes light up as he spots the waitress coming their way with a tray full of drink refills. She winks at him but he ignores it, providing his immediate attention to the lager. Their friend Nami regularly calls him an alcoholic but he prefers to think of himself as a nice guy who keeps dumpy bars in business. Two gulps of beer later, the table has calmed down, Law dabbing the spill with a napkin and Luffy rubbing his ribs with a pout.

"No verdicts, they adjourned for deliberation and will pick up tomorrow. Defense was a total prick, took up a shitload of time talking," Zoro responds to Luffy's earlier question. Law nods in agreement as he goes back to scrolling through his cell phone.

"Is he guilty?" Usopp asks. The two of them are always entranced in the court cases; Usopp because he spends so much time reading the files when work is slow and Luffy because his grandpa is Deputy Chief of Police. Bizarre that such a troublemaker would be related to such an important presence in their local police, but that's just Luffy. Bizarre. Still, it was a shock when Zoro arrested him the first time and the whole station laughed when he brought the kid in. They'd become pretty close friends after that.

"Definitely," Law replies for him. "Two eye-witness testimonies."

Glancing at his phone, Zoro raises an eyebrow at the digital clock flashed across the screen. Almost time. Catching the waitress' eye, he motions for his check.

"Leaving already?" Luffy pouts into his drink. It's pretty early for him to retire but he has somewhere to be.

"Long day. See you Sunday?" He nods at the waitress as she sets down his check, digging into his pocket and pulling out a couple crumpled bills, enough to pay the tab and tip.

"You know it!" Luffy gives him an enormous grin as he stands. He gives a half wave to Usopp and nods sharply at Law before heading for the door.

The cool night air is refreshing against his skin, the stuffy bar causing a light sheen of sweat on his temple and neck. Walking briskly to his car, Zoro glances at his phone once again. Cutting it close on time. He spots his small SUV in the parking lot and climbs in, quickly turning on his GPS. Normally he hates the damn thing but he doesn't want to risk being late. Directions flash across the screen and he starts the drive to the other side of town.

Twenty minutes later and he's parked discreetly in a row of cars along the street, engine turned off. Through his tinted windows, he surveys his environment. It's a quiet, residential neighborhood with townhouses lined up uniformly. The kind of calm place where most families are tucked away inside by 10 p.m. Driveways and curbsides are full of SUVs and other vehicles comparable to the price-range of his own, helping him blend in easier to his surroundings. One more glance at the clock and Zoro grins. Right on time.

Less than five minutes pass and he spots a figure walking down the sidewalk. Pace even, hands shoved in pockets. Gangly and slender, dark clothing contrasting with light hair. Head down, shoulders shrugged. A distinct, recognizable stride. Slowing speed, the man fishes out a cigarette and cups the lighter, two flicks and its lit, glowing in the distance.

Zoro's dark eyes trail him as he continues his stroll, finally reaching the townhouse across the street and two buildings up from where he's parked. Zoro notes the man fiddling with his lock before swinging the door open and disappearing into the darkness.

Zoro digs his notepad out from under his seat and jots down the time. It's too dark to see his scribbles clearly but he knows that it's the same as the last several nights before. He has a fairly predictable schedule and that makes Zoro's job easier. It's always a little amusing to him how much humans are creatures of habit.

He lets a few more minutes pass before starting his engine again and pulling into the street, heading home to study his notes and continue finalizing his plan. It's Friday night and in their area, the most common night for high crime and murder. He smirks, remembering the bottle of Jameson he has sitting on his counter. There's no point in going to sleep anytime soon. Most likely his phone will ring in a few hours, beckoning him to another crime scene. Another death. Another puzzle to solve in order to bring justice to their city.

* * *

"Bro, it's gross in there."

"Yeah, bro. Totally gnarly."

Zoro rolls his eyes at the duo in front of the house. Crime scene tape is littered across the lawn of the run down house, officers everywhere, mostly securing the small crowd forming. It's the middle of the night but the flashing lights and sea of uniforms attracts people from their homes to come watch the spectacle.

He stands outside the front door with Johnny and Yosaku, buddies of his from back when he was in blues. Street cops, they had answered a domestic violence call but the damage was worse than they expected when they showed up. As he expected, Zoro received the call from Mihawk around two in the morning.

"I'm sure I've seen worse." He pats Johnny on the shoulder as he walks through the front door. "What room?"

"Bedroom," Yosaku calls after him. They're good guys but would never make it as investigators. Need a strong stomach for this kind of job and that's not a quality either of them possess. They're better off giving speeding tickets and saving cats from trees, day-to-day shit like that.

The house is empty, the noise from out front fading as his footsteps echo down the short hall. A thorough sweep through the house for intruders and then the officers usually wait for his unit to come in. No one wants to be around dead bodies longer than they have to. Zoro doesn't mind; he doesn't like the hustle and bustle of crime scenes. When he and Law show up, the crowd always parts in a sea of relief. Glad that it's someone else's job to study the cadavers and their places of death.

Turning to his left, he finds the bedroom and stops in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Blood splatters across the wall and bed, man and woman slumped on the floor. With one quick glance, it appears to be a typical murder-suicide, as most domestic violence cases tend to be. A part of him is relieved, not because two people are dead but because it should be an easy case. Not much time to spend here and minimal paperwork on Monday.

"DB's?"

Zoro looks down the hall and spots Law walking in the front door, pulling on gloves over his tattooed fingers.

"Two of 'em," he replies, turning back and taking a step into the room. The scent of blood fills his nostrils, a familiar stench.

"Motive?" Law joins him in the room, frowning at the mess.

"DV. Neighbor heard them arguing."

"Typical," Law says with a sniff. He pulls out his cell phone turns to leave, probably to call Mihawk for a report. Zoro takes a couple more steps closer to the body of the man. A gun lay at his side, gunshot wound in his head. Most likely self-inflicted. The sight makes Zoro sneer in contempt before turning on his heel and exiting the house.

Law's talking to a short, squat woman in the yard. Zoro can tell by his face that he's bored already. Better it's him, then. He walks to his car to grab his kit and camera, avoiding the eager faces of the neighbors watching from behind the yellow tape. They all want the murderers to be caught but spend so much time entertaining themselves with the news stories and crime scenes.

Law escapes his interview, leaving the woman in the hands of Johnny and Yosaku, who are much better at comforting people than he and Zoro ever could be.

"She the one who called?"

"Yeah." Law replies, writing a couple more notes on his pad before tucking it away in his coat pocket. Zoro hands him the camera, pulling gloves out of his bag as they walk back into the house to go through the motions of taking pictures and gathering evidence. The first responders are eager to get to the bodies so they work quickly to get everything they need.

A couple hours later and Zoro is back on the road to return home. The sun will rise soon, just about when he's going to be falling asleep. Times like these are the only moments when he regrets living so far outside of town. All of his friends live in the city but Zoro lives about fifteen miles outside of its limits, quiet farmland surrounding his old house. He likes the privacy and the space. He needs it, more than anyone will ever know.

He drives in silence, not bothering to turn on the radio. It's only morning talk show hosts and cheesy 80's music at this time of day. Buildings and suburbs pass him by before he's surrounded by countryside, expanses of land on either side of the old county road.

Finally making it to his driveway, Zoro's weary body reminds him of his long day. Car parked, engine off, and few long strides and he's at his front door. Letting himself in and locking it behind him, he stretches as he throws his keys on the table, glad to be home. Shuffling to the bedroom, he slumps onto his bed and falls quickly into deep slumber, needing as much rest as possible to prepare for the next night.

* * *

Everything's in place. His car is parked out front, close to the town home but situated far enough away that it's unnoticeable. Bag shoved in the closet. Cell phone turned off. Shoes wrapped in plastic, gloves on, hair tucked under a cap. There can be no evidence.

Hidden in the upstairs bedroom, Zoro crouches on the other side of a large bed and waits. He's been there about an hour, allowing himself ample time to break into the residence and make sure everything is in order. Tucked in his back pocket is a small bottle of chloroform and a rag – just in case. There's no room for error.

He's done this so many times before. At this point, he considers himself almost an expert at home invasion. But there's always that small voice in the back of his mind reminding him that the smallest detail is what makes or breaks a case. It's how he catches so many of the bad guys. They always overlook something. That's why he spends so much time scouting. No detail is too small.

Glancing at the soft glow of a clock sitting on a bedside table, Zoro notes that the man should be home any minute. Alert but distinctly calm, even the adrenaline pumping through his veins doesn't faze him. No matter what may happen, he's confident this will be an easy takedown. He's ready.

Right on time, he hears the jiggle of keys unlocking the door. A few more seconds and the drag of it being pushed open. Zoro keeps his breathing even and his body absolutely still. Keys clank on a table, rustling followed by two soft thumps – shoes coming off – and then a small sigh can be heard from down below. Dim light floods up the stairwell and trickles into the bedroom. Zoro is situated out of its reach, maintaining his position in the shadows, waiting to pounce.

Soft footsteps pad up the stairs with the rhythm and echo of a strut he's observed for days. The smell of cigarettes and seafood loom outside the door as Sanji treads up the hall and turns into the bedroom. A jacket is tossed onto the bed, the cuff of its sleeve grazes Zoro's ear. Moments like this are why he takes his earrings out for these ventures. Small details.

Zoro listens, relying on instinct to determine the position of his victim. He doesn't dare peek around the bed or lift his head an inch. Any glimpse could get him caught and cause a scene that would jeopardize what he's worked so hard to attain. The footsteps have stopped and Zoro hears some shuffling, then the sound of a wooden drawer being pulled open. He must be standing in front of the dresser, which is positioned against the opposite wall on the other side of the bed. This is the moment Zoro was waiting for.

Lightning fast, he ambushes the blond. He's across the room instantly and grabs Sanji; hand over his mouth and wraps a thick arm around his neck, bicep cutting off his airway. Sanji jumps at the sudden movement and not surprisingly, elbows Zoro in the gut. Undeterred, Zoro clenches his hold harder, removing his hand from over Sanji's mouth and seizing one of his wrists in one fell swoop. Unable to scream or yell due to the hold on his throat, the blond gurgles and gasps for air, his free hand ripping at Zoro's arm and legs kicking wildly, trying to land a blow. Zoro grins at the squirming. Even though it's safer when it's easy, he always loves a fighter. This one's feisty, that's for sure.

Sanji's writhing is weakening, the lack of oxygen impacting his brain and muscles. His kicking and grabbing slows and after a few seconds, stops completely. Zoro releases his hold and allows his opponent's slender frame to crumple to the floor. Not completely knocked out, Sanji looks up at him, blue eyes wide with confusion, clutching at his throat and trying to catch his breath. Fear paints his face and is illuminated by the yellow hall light, making him seem almost innocent. Not allowing any opportunity for him to get away, Zoro pulls back a fist and delivers a hard punch to the side of his jaw. His head snaps back and in an instant, he's knocked out cold on the floor.

Zoro stands still for a moment, catching his breath. He checks out his forearm, scratches speckle up and down his tanned skin. He feels a bruise forming on his hip from the sharp elbow he took to the gut. Fiery fucker.

Crossing the room, he opens the small closet and grabs the black bag he stashed earlier. Great thing about working for the homicide unit is easy access to body bags. They're perfect for transporting a body inconspicuously. Late at night in the dark most people would glance over and see a stranger carrying a duffel bag or a guitar case. No one expects a body bag.

Zoro unzips the bag and works quickly to roll Sanji's limp body into it. He turns on a light and studies the room for any damage, carefully correcting random bottles of cologne and other miscellaneous shit that was knocked over in the foray. Satisfied with his handiwork, he bends back down to zip up the bag. His hand hesitates on the zipper as he reaches Sanji's throat, his dark eye studying the pale face. Disgust pools in his stomach and he firmly zips the bag all the way, grabbing the small handles and tossing his haul over his shoulder.

Light and thin, albeit a little heavier than expected, Sanji is easy to carry as Zoro leaves the room, turning off lights as he goes. Down the stairs and through the small living space, Zoro reaches the door and opens it a crack, glancing out into the street. As expected, the suburban neighborhood is dark and still. He shifts the body on his shoulder and exits the house discreetly, pulling the door closed and using the spare key he found in the kitchen to lock it. One more look around, he sets across the small lawn to his SUV, unlocking it on the way. Opening the hatchback, he gingerly sets the bag in the back before closing the door and making his way to driver side.

Climbing into the seat, he wastes no time starting up and pulling into the street, tugging the cap off of his head and tossing it into the passenger seat. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and glances in his rearview mirror. No movement from the back. Re-focusing on cautious driving and maintaining the speed limit, Zoro stares straight ahead the long ride home.

As the city lights fade behind him, the road becomes darker and more desolate, no street lamps or houses to keep company. He releases a sigh of relief, knowing once he's made it out of the city his chances of being caught are significantly slimmer. His heart still beats rapidly, knowing his night has just begun.

He pulls into his driveway, his dark house waiting under the moonlight. Parking the car in the dirt drive, he swiftly hops out and retrieves the body from the back, not wanting to risk Sanji waking up.

Fumbling for his keys, Zoro pauses in front of his oak entryway. It's aged but durable, just like the rest of his house. Early 1900s according to the auctioneer he purchased it from. It needed some work and Zoro handled most of the updates himself, recruiting his friends to help with easier tasks like painting. Luckily, he got to customize certain parts of it during the revision. Sections of the home unknown to others cater to his specific needs.

Shoving the door open, Zoro makes his way into the living room, dropping his keys onto the table. He rapidly crosses to the back of the house and enters his bedroom. He sets Sanji down on the bed before turning on the light, squinting slightly at the brightness filling the room. It's cozy, oversized furniture filling in the space. He doesn't need much, just a bed, dresser, and table.

He opens the closet door, a small walk-in that's sparse with a few work suits and shirts. Kneeling to the floor, he reaches into the back corner and picks at a piece of the carpet, digging his fingers underneath and pulling it back to reveal a trapdoor. He yanks on the handle to jerk it open and stands, returning to the bed to pick up Sanji once more. Carefully, he begins his descent down the steep wooden stairs onto the dark landing. He expertly takes two steps forward and pauses at a thick heavy door, mechanically unlatching several locks as he has many times before.

Shouldering the door open he enters the vast cellar, a part of his home that he's kept secret for the few years he's lived here. Flipping a switch to the left of the door, the open space fills with a murky, yellow light from a singular bulb that hangs in the middle of the room. Underneath sits a large chair with straps attached to the arms and legs. A workbench stretches across the sidewall, stopping at a thin door that leads to an old, rustic bathroom that still has original plumbing. At the back of the room is a large furnace, a stack of wood and coal piled high by it. In the opposite corner, a hose hangs off the wall, long enough to stretch to the center of the room and reach the drain that sits underneath the metal chair.

Placing the bag on the ground by the chair, he unzips and finds Sanji still knocked out, breathing shallow from stifling conditions. Zoro hoists the limber frame out of the carrier and into the chair, sitting him upright. He fastens the straps around Sanji's wrists and ankles, fingers working with skill and speed of experience. The last strap goes around the halo of blond hair and across the forehead, tight enough to keep his head straight and forward.

He rolls up the bag before walking to his workbench and pulls a small set of keys out of his pocket. Unlocking one of the cabinets, he shoves his tools back in, including the bottle of chloroform from his back pocket. Zoro grins; it's the eighth hunt in a row where he hasn't needed to use it. A personal best.

A small cassette player is bolted to the counter of the workbench. Zoro keeps everything bolted down or locked up, not wanting the risk of anyone ever getting loose and trying to use miscellaneous items as weapons. Unlocking another cabinet, he pulls down an old metal box and a fabric case of knives. Unrolling the knife kit across the counter, they gleam in the soft light, their sharp edges glistening, almost begging Zoro to use them. Catching his own eye in their reflection, he smirks, knowing their hunger will be satisfied soon.

Opening the metal case, he digs into the box of cassette tapes. He found them down here, along with the cassette player, when cleaning out and modifying the space. They're old, music from the 40's and 50's but that's what he likes. Classic. Vintage. Easy to listen to. Picking one at random, he reads the name and satisfied to settle on Sinatra pushes it into the player. Keeping the volume down low, he traverses to the other side of the room and takes the hose off the wall, dragging it to the center. Twisting the nozzle slightly, a soft cold stream trickles out and he splashes the water on Sanji's face in an attempt to wake him up.

Sanji blinks once, then twice, and slowly his eyes open. Zoro watches the confusion spread across his pallid face, glaring down at the seated man, hose still in hand.

"Wh-where am I?" Sanji asks hazily, still impacted by the blow to the head he took earlier.

"In Hell."

Sanji's eyes widen, the gravity of his situation becoming more evident on his features. He tries to stand but is quickly made aware of the thick leather straps pinning his hands and legs down. He tries to move his head to look but can't, trapped by the chair. His blue eyes dart wildly around the room before landing on Zoro's face. Zoro smiles menacingly, enjoying the desperation and anger that rises from Sanji as seconds tick by.

"Who are you? What the fuck is going on here?" Sanji's voice breaks at the end, his words spat furiously at Zoro but panic masked underneath the rage.

"Me? I'm nobody. Just doing my duty."

"And what's that?"

Zoro drops the hose on the floor and kicks it away before leaning in close to Sanji, hands resting on the other man's thin forearms strapped to either side of the chair. He can feel the skin underneath his palms rising in fear. Faces close, his dark eye bores into Sanji's with loathing.

"To serve justice to scum like you."

He grips his hands tight around Sanji's arms, bruising the pale flesh. Sanji winces as Zoro continues in a low rumble, "Murderers, rapists. Criminals who thought they got away. I make sure you don't."

He stands again, crossing his arms across his chest and glares down at Sanji.

"What the fuck makes you think I'm like that? I'm no murderer or rapist. I would never – "

Zoro shoots his hand out and grabs Sanji by the throat, completely cutting him off. Through gritted teeth, he growls, "Can't any of you just admit it? Do you think I'd do this without proof? I'm not a fucking murderer, not like you."

With one last squeeze he lets go of Sanji's slender neck, causing him to cough from the sudden outburst. He walks over to the workbench and picks up a long, sharp knife, toying with it in his palm as he turns around and watches Sanji.

Something feels off, deep in his gut as he eyes the blond's body shaking with coughs. He begins mentally reviewing the night, making sure he hasn't left out a single piece of the puzzle. He has the proof; he's done his watch. Everything checks out. No evidence was left at the apartment, no risk of anyone seeing him. Doors are locked. Tools are ready. Nothing is awry. But still, he can't shake this gnawing feeling…

A guttural noise interrupts his thoughts. Zoro looks up from his knife to find Sanji's chest rising and falling heavily, his breathing quick and ragged. His eyes affixed upon the blade.

"I'm not a _fucking murderer_ ," Sanji roars from his seat, voice raspy. He tries jerking his arms and legs from the straps but they're too tight. Zoro gazes on as the man attempts to use his torso to shake the chair but it's no use – he has it bolted down for that very reason.

Zoro tucks the knife into his back pocket and turns back the bench, unlocking and opening a drawer underneath the cassette player. Pulling out a manila folder, he pages through it swiftly and finds what he needs. Taking a photo from the pages, he throws the folder on the counter and approaches Sanji's chair, holding the picture out in front of him. It depicts a young, pretty girl laid across a tan carpet, dark bloodstains pooling underneath her from her bludgeoned head.

"Remember her?" Zoro asks as Sanji stares at the photo. Disbelief seems to shroud his face, making Zoro raise an eyebrow. This guy's acting skills are good.

"Cosette? Heard she was missing but… I didn't know…" Sanji's voice trails off at the end, quivering slightly.

"You did know. You did this to her." Zoro responds coldly, tossing the photo in Sanji's lap. "Took her out for coffee and then you killed her."

Sanji jerks his head as much as he can to glower indignantly at Zoro.

"I would _never_ lay my hands on a woman like that."

Zoro wants to believe him; the man looks like he believes himself. But the video evidence, the definitive proof, says otherwise. He reaches his hand back to his pocket, his fingers hesitating slightly on the handle of the knife.

"This why the cops came and asked me about her?" Sanji questions, his eyes cold and calculating. Not allowing time for an answer, he blurts, "Wait - I know you!"

Zoro removes his hand from knife and places it on his hip, looking quizzically down at Sanji.

"You came by my restaurant the other day. I remember the hair. You had a badge… you're a cop?!"

"Told you, I'm nobody." He responds, walking slowly around the chair to stand behind Sanji, where the man can't see him. Truthfully, he wanted to get out from under his stare. As every minute goes by, Zoro feels more and more hesitant about this kill, which has never happened before. "Doesn't matter anyway. You have to pay for what you did."

He grabs the knife from his back pocket and reaches around Sanji's head, firmly pressing the tip of the blade against his neck. The room goes silent and everything stands still. Heartbeats pass between them, Zoro pressing steel firmly against flesh, enough pressure to break the skin and cause blood to trickle. He feels Sanji gulp from beneath the knife.

His instincts gnaw at him, his inner voice whispering at him to stop. His mind knows that this man before him is a murderer but deep down, his gut is telling him otherwise. Something just isn't _right_. Removing the knife he steps back and studies the top of Sanji's head. Despite what he may know, he can't allow himself to go against instinct. For the first time, Zoro Roronoa steps away from his kill. He returns to the other side of the room and tucks his knife back in its spot.

He has to do more research.

He glances at Sanji, whose face is full of confusion and horror. Crimson blood creeps down his neck and pools on the collar of his shirt. Zoro begins packing up his supplies, ignoring the other man. He needs to think.

He stops the music abruptly, dropping the tape back into its box. He pushes the metal container and his knife kit back into the cabinet and reaches for a rag before locking it. He feels Sanji's gaze on him the whole time, tension of uncertainty rising in the room.

Before he can say another word, Zoro treads back and grips Sanji's jaw hard, forcing out a sharp cry. He takes the opportunity to shove a rag into his mouth, no wanting to risk the man screaming all night.

The foreign feeling of uneasiness continues to rise in his chest; he gives one last glare to Sanji then promptly stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him and latching each lock. He leans his sweaty forehead against the cool cellar door and closes his eyes. He needs to sleep on this and hopefully the morning will bring clarity.

Pushing himself off the door, he climbs the steep stairs and hoists himself out of the hole in the floor. He closes the trap door and returns the carpet to its rightful place before collapsing on his bed, trying to disregard the unfulfilled lust for the kill and the skepticism of his intuition.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sanji's breath hitches as the door closes; it's slam still echoing off the cement walls. Locks twist and latch on the other side as realization hits. That psycho plans on keeping him tied up here. The rag in his mouth prevents him from making any noise other than faint grunts. There's no use trying to scream.

His neck aches from the position of his head. The leather strap against his forehead is cutting into his temple and making it impossible to turn his neck. He needs to assess his condition but can only stare straight ahead at a long wall of cabinets. Clenching a fist, he pulls angrily at the straps binding his wrist to the chair. No use. He tries to kick his feet as hard as he can to free his ankles but they're bound too tight.

Closing his eyes, Sanji breathes in deeply through his nose. He has to be smart about this. If there's any hope in getting out alive, he has to have a plan. His nose twitches, a strong smell of bleach hitting him full force. He'd been too panicked, too angry earlier to even notice it. Underneath the stench of bleach is another scent, fainter. He can't place it but it makes him even more uncomfortable, as if the odor is exactly what the bleach is trying to cover up.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps. Unable to look towards the noise, he holds his breath trying to listen closely to the faint sounds. A loud thud, couple thumps, and then silence. He waits a few more seconds before exhaling. It sounded like someone walking above him, which means wherever he is has multiple stories. From the look of the cement walls, cracked floor, and dreary lighting, he must be in some kind of basement.

His heart starts pounding - he's read about this before. People being kidnapped and imprisoned for months on end. He remembers one girl was captured for eighteen fucking years and no one knew she was locked in a shed. There's no way in hell that bastard is going to keep him down here like that. He'd rather die.

Goosebumps rise across his pale skin, making him acutely aware of the cold sweat covering his body. That man - the psycho - wanted to kill him. Was going to kill him before he just walked out. Is this part of the game? Does he just fuck with his victims and torture them before murdering them in cold blood? The cut on his neck burns, a sick reminder of what may come.

He has got to get out of this chair.

With renewed vigor, he starts pulling at his straps again, gritting his teeth on the rag in his mouth out of rage. Deep, guttural growls try to escape his throat as he tugs and tears, desperately attempting to loosen one of them, even if only a sliver. His wrist and ankles will be bruised but he doesn't care, the only thing that matters right now is trying to get free.

It feels like hours pass as he tries to shake himself out of this prison. Muscles burning, body aching, chest tightening from anger and fear. No matter how hard he tries, he feels no progress. With one final huff he stops the resistance, closing his eyes once more. Breathing ragged and heavy, the cotton in his dry mouth is tickling his throat. He wills himself to not cough and choke on the damn thing. His heavy breathing coupled with the strong scent of bleach is making him lightheaded. He doesn't want to pass out but feels the weight in his head pushing him further and further into the black hole of unconsciousness. One last rebellious kick against the metal chair and darkness washes over him completely.

* * *

The sound of a door closing rouses Sanji from his uncomfortable sleep. Immediately, his eyes fly open and he watches the man from the night before come within range of his vision. His neck throbs and his back aches, his ankles and wrists feel swollen from his earlier tirade. Body exhausted, emotionally drained, he musters all the willpower he has left inside him to start formulating some kind of plan. No matter what, survival is his main priority.

The bastard shoots a quick glance at Sanji before turning to what appears to be a workbench in front of where he sits. Sanji watches carefully as the man digs into the pocket of his black sweatpants, pulls out a set of keys, and starts unlocking cabinets and pulling random items from them. Sanji's eyes trail up the man's body, trying to assess his opponent and determine any potential weakness. His legs are shorter than Sanji's even though they appear to be the same height from his seated position. However, he's distinctly more muscular, his shirtless form showing off broad shoulders and a well built back. Sanji catches glimpse of the man's bicep as he closes a cabinet and gulps, feeling its strength and power ghosting against his throat once more. The fucker could easily snap Sanji's neck with his bare hands.

Finished with his task, the other man turns around and stares straight at Sanji. Their eyes meet and for the first time, Sanji notices a scar running down the man's eye. Sanji drops the steely gaze and is shocked to see a more gruesome scar slashed across the man's torso, shoulder to hip.

His heart rate increases as the man begins walking towards him, unsure of what to expect next. A large, tanned hand reaches up and tugs the rag out of his mouth, causing him to cough and dry heave.

"W-water." he rasps through coughs, desperately needing anything to help his tongue from feeling like sand.

The man reaches down and disappears from Sanji's sight for a brief flash before reappearing with a hose in hand. Sanji eagerly opens his mouth as the nozzle is turned so a light trickle flows. It's held over his tongue at the perfect angle for those drops of pure bliss to reach his parched mouth. Swallowing as much as he's allowed, Sanji sighs at the cool drink before the hose is removed and dropped back on the floor.

Silence hangs between them, unspoken words lingering in the air. Finally, Sanji takes a breath and bluntly asks, "Are you going to kill me?"

For some fucked up reason, the other man smirks at his inquiry.

"Eager to die, huh? Guilty conscience? Have something to confess?"

Shit. Sanji didn't realize his question would cause this kind of reaction. The last thing he wants is for the psychopath to think he's actually guilty of some crime. Making sure his tone is even, he carefully responds, "Not at all. Just trying to determine my fate."

"That's for me to decide."

Choosing to avoid questions that might push his captor over the edge, Sanji shifts uncomfortably in his seat silently. His neck is burning from being held in the same position for hours. The other man is just staring at him, seemingly contemplative over what to do next. Fuck. Sanji hopes he isn't trying to figure out what kind of torture method is best.

Abruptly, the man walks out of Sanji's field of vision around to behind the chair. He can hear him fiddling with something and then unexpectedly, the pressure around his head is gone. The leather strap falls to the side, tickling his ear slightly as it goes. Tentatively moving his neck, Sanji is elated to find he's freed completely from the binding. Stretching and rolling his neck, he allows himself to celebrate this small victory with relief.

"Are you letting me go?" he demands, his newfound freedom giving him a boost of confidence. A large, strong hand grabs his hair in a tight fist and yanks his head upwards, so that Sanji's neck is bent and he's glaring into the scarred face of the man looming behind him.

"No."

The man shoves his head forward, letting him go and walks back around near his workbench. He slides out a wooden stool that's tucked away in the corner and sets it right in front of Sanji, taking a seat. Leaning forward slightly on his stool, he runs a hand through his own hair. Sanji arches an eyebrow slightly at its greenish tint.

"Give a man an inch and he wants a mile," his captor mutters, his deep voice dripping with disdain.

What kind of old man shit is that? It's the kind of grandpa lingo his dad used to use. As much as he wants to mock the Green Bastard (as he's mentally dubbed this psycho), he bites his tongue, smart enough to know that whatever witty comeback he's itching to deliver is not worth the possibility of death.

Green Bastard's stare is heavy, even though one eye is scarred and closed. Sanji feels the glare penetrating him deeply, as if his soul is being studied. As much as he wants to look away, he feels trapped by the forceful eye contact. His expression is unreadable but there's a flicker of uncertainty hidden behind his eye. Sanji's not sure if it's truly there or if that's just wishful thinking.

"You killed that girl." It's a statement, not a question – as though the man believes what he's accusing Sanji of whole-heartedly.

Sanji's temper flares. There's no fucking way he'd ever hurt an innocent person – especially a sweet girl like Cosette. Anybody who knows Sanji could tell him that. He's not capable of that kind of cruelty.

"You have the wrong guy," he responds through gritted teeth. "You don't know who I am."

An eye roll. And then a smirk.

"Sanji Black. 26 years old. Date of birth: March 2nd…"

Sanji gasps as the man stands from his stool and drags it back to its home across the room, all the while rattling off facts about his life monotonously, as though they're ingrained in his mind.

"…Height: 5'11''. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Head chef at Baratie seafood…"

Green Bastard grabs the rag from earlier and balls it up. Sanji instinctively turns his head but the man grips his jaw tightly and forces the material into his mouth.

"…Father deceased. No mother. No siblings. Smokes two packs a day. Menthols."

Sanji's heart beats rapidly, only able to stare as the man walks back the door. Fingers resting on the handle, he turns around and delivers one last piercing look.

"I know who you are."

* * *

Upstairs, Zoro sits on the edge of his bed, hands clasped and eyes focused on his closet. He's always been proud of how well concealed this other part of his life is. Closet door wide open, there's no evidence that a secret resides right underneath the carpet. But now, everything is at risk because of that stupid cook down in the cellar.

He hoped that random feeling of uncertainty was just exhaustion or stress, some fucked up fleeting moment. However, when he went downstairs this morning he still felt the same. As much as he knows that the guy tied up in his basement is the one who mutilated an innocent woman, his instincts keep screaming at him that he can't kill him.

Zoro stands, stretching his arms and back. Scratching his chest, he keeps his eye on the closet. Even though he has all the proof he needs, his intuition needs something more. Just have to keep digging.

A small tinge of guilt bubbles inside him. What if he messed up and the guy is innocent? It's not likely but considering how he's felt since last night, it's not impossible. This is new territory for Zoro and in this line of work change is not good. There's no way he can let Sanji go – there's evidence that points to him being a murderer. And he's seen Zoro's face, which is not to be taken lightly. If he lets this guy go, that means accusations, charges, investigations. At best, he's found not guilty and loses his career. At worst, he's put on death row. Either way, it doesn't look too good for him.

Zoro scratches the back of his head and sighs. Sanji's just going to have to stay down there until he figures it all out.

Grabbing a white t-shirt that's slung across the foot of his bed, Zoro tugs it on as he leaves his bedroom. Reaching the kitchen, he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and twists the cap off before noticing a small bundle sleeping on the counter by him.

"Mornin' Oni," he murmurs, reaching over and patting the warm black and white body. The cat wakes and stretches, nuzzling her face against Zoro's hand.

Gulping down some water, he continues to pet Oni a few more minutes, gazing out his kitchen window to the shed in the back.

After tossing his bottle in the bin, he opens a small kitchen drawer and digs out the keys to the shed. Heading out the door, he hesitates a moment, letting the petite cat follow behind him. Ever since he found her when she was a kitten, she's followed him all around the property. The two of them make their way across the yard, sun high in the sky. It's going to be a hot summer this year if these first few weeks of June are any indication.

Reaching the shed, he unlocks the hefty lock and sets it on the ground, pulling open the wooden doors. It's jam packed full of miscellaneous junk. Stuff he found in the house and decided to keep, stuff that was already in the shed, stuff he's collected over time. Lots of random tools, some furniture he doesn't use, and wood for his various projects around the house.

Spotting what he needs, he carefully moves two old tires and a wheelbarrow out of the way. Oni lingers outside, cleaning her face while watching him work. Junk aside, he reaches a dusty twin mattress and slides it out of the shed. It's a little dirty and worn, but it'll do the trick. He locks everything back up before hoisting the mattress on his shoulders and the two are on their way to the house.

Inside, Oni returns to the kitchen and Zoro hears the small crunches of her eating breakfast. His own stomach rumbles but first, he has to finish his task. Dragging the mattress down the hall into his bedroom, he sets it on the floor and moves to his closet, mentally calculating if it'll squeeze through the opening. Carpet aside and trapdoor open, he's pleased to find that it should just fit.

Zoro pushes the mattress into the closet and down the steep stairs to the landing below. The landing is small, very little space between the edge of the wooden staircase and the heavy door, so Zoro leans the mattress against his back as he unlatches the bolts.

He hauls the mattress into the room, feeling Sanji's eyes on him the whole time. Deciding to place it in the back corner, opposite side of the room from his furnace, he moves the bed to its dwelling. Pointedly ignoring the blond gawking at him, he moves back across the room for his tools.

The items he dug out during his earlier visit are still scattered across his workbench: a heavy-duty drill, bolts, and a pair of leg cuffs he had found in the home of one of his casualties. Sick fuck had used them to tie up and torture people. Bundling the items in his arms, he sets back to the mattress and starts his project.

A couple hours pass before his work is complete, sweat dripping down his forehead from the strength needed to drill into the heavy cement walls. Sanji had tried to get his attention the whole time with rattling his chair, but it was easy to tune out with the drill. Pleased with his handiwork, he pulls forcefully at the cuffs one more time, making sure they're tight and secure.

He wipes his brow with his arm and glances over at Sanji, whose head is turned so he can peek around the chair and watch what Zoro is doing. His eyes are wide with understanding of the circumstances and Zoro can tell that any attempt to get the little shit into these cuffs will be a battle. Luckily, it's one he doesn't have to fight.

Zoro reaches into his pocket and pulls out gloves and a small plastic bag, inside a rag soaking in chloroform. Pulling the neck of his t-shirt over his own nose and mouth, he tugs on the gloves. Positioning himself right behind the chair, his hands are already opening the bag and removing his weapon. With one hand he grabs Sanji's hair and with the other, he forces the rag over his nose. Sanji tries to fight underneath him, attempting to shake his head loose but Zoro's grip is stronger, keeping the rag forced over his nose. The man grunts and squirms under his hold, pulling on his straps hard to try to shake himself free. Zoro rolls his eyes at the pointless display.

A couple minutes pass before Sanji's body stops fighting and goes limp. Zoro quickly stuffs the rag back into the plastic bag and tosses it aside, needing to work fast. Moving around the chair, he unfastens the straps and slings Sanji over his shoulder, moving him to his new home on the mattress. Fastening the leg cuffs around his ankles, Zoro makes sure they're locked and secure, tugging on them as hard as he can. There are a few feet of chain if he wants to move and roam, but not nearly enough to be within reach of anything vital. His feet are close together, so any attempt to run or kick is impossible. Zoro handcuffs Sanji's wrists together behind his body, rendering him unable to fight.

Zoro leans over and checks the man's breathing, making sure there were no serious side effects of the chloroform. Satisfied with its steadiness, he stands back up and gathers his tools, returning them to their rightful places in the workbench. Noticing the hose still laying across the floor, he rolls it back up to its position on the wall.

Cellar completely clean, Zoro starts back to the main level of the house, making sure to lock up the door before climbing the stairs. Trapdoor latched, carpet replaced, shoes scattered back over the floor of the closet and it's like nothing ever happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices his cell phone flashing on his nightstand. Picking it up, he's surprised to see he has four missed calls from Nami.

Before he can caller her back, his phone starts vibrating in his hand, Luffy's name flashing across the screen.

"What?" he answers, his typical greeting. He hates talking on the phone.

"Hey! It's me!" Luffy says with a laugh, as if it would be anyone else. "On our way. Have lunch yet?"

Zoro glances at the small alarm clock by his bed, shocked to see its almost noon.

There's some rustling on the other side of the receiver, a sudden noise from Luffy and then an agitated voice shouts into Zoro's ear, "Why didn't you answer my calls?!"

Zoro groans in response. Nami can be a great person but she's got a sharp temper. Not answering her first few phone calls is sure to land him a special place on her shit list.

"Don't you groan at me. You'll answer Luffy's call but not mine?"

"Was busy," he mutters as he wanders into his small bathroom to rinse his face.

"Sure you were. Anyway, we're about to leave and bringing lunch. What do you want from Groggy's?"

Groggy's, or Groggy Monsters, is a local burger joint that makes monstrous burgers, several patties stacked on each other with every possible topping. It's amazing, and more importantly, its Luffy's favorite place to eat. Zoro's stomach rumbles, reminding him he hasn't eaten at all today.

"Monster cheeseburger with a large fry. All the toppings."

"OK but you owe me when I get there."

"Like you'd ever buy me lunch."

" _You're_ buying _me_ lunch since I'm picking it up. See ya in a bit!"

Nami hangs up the phone before Zoro can protest. He sighs, used to it by now.

Deciding to take a shower before company arrives, he turns on the faucet to let the water warm up. He strips, tossing his sweaty clothes into the small laundry basket in the corner. A little head pokes in the door, whiskers twitching at the sound of the shower. Oni has always enjoyed water. Her favorite game is sticking her paws in the shower while Zoro washes.

Zoro clambers in and groans, tension melting under the warm water. Not being one to take too long bathing, he quickly lathers his soap and mechanically begins his routine, the whole shower taking less than ten minutes. He pauses as he washes his hair, his thoughts trailing back to the man in his cellar. Tonight, he tells himself, he will go over all his research. Hell, he'll stay up all night if he has to. He must find out the truth.

Rinsing his hair, he smirks as he spots a little white paw clawing at random drops of water splashing on the shower curtain. Finishing his routine, he turns the water off and grabs the towel slung over the rack. He dries himself down and exits the small bathroom, hair still dripping on his shoulders. Opening his drawers, he pulls out whatever's on top and dresses for the day. Returning to the bathroom to hang his towel back up, he takes a glimpse of himself in the mirror and notices his earrings are still missing from the night before. Locating them in his medicine cabinet, he twists each one into his lobe and clasps them tight. Once all three are returned, he nods at his reflection, glad to hear the soft tinkling of metal again.

The earrings were Johnny and Yosaku's idea. It was early in Zoro's career, back when he was a traffic cop. The three of them would spend their time off in a local pub called Whiskey Peak getting piss drunk on cheap beer. One night, they decided that getting pierced would be a true testament to their manhood. Although incredibly stupid, Zoro was inebriated enough to go along with it, buying into their drunken ramblings of how cool it would be.

Completely plastered, they found the only tattoo shop that would ignore their obvious lack of sobriety. First, Johnny got one ear pierced. Deciding to one-up him, Yosaku declared he would be twice as cool and get both his ears pierced. Not being one to shy away from a challenge, Zoro asked for three holes in his ear and was dubbed the "manliest of men" by Johnny and Yosaku. Both of their ears got infected and they took their earrings out but Zoro always kept his. He hadn't expected it, but they suited him.

Hearing tires hitting the dirt and gravel of his driveway, Zoro makes his way to the front of the house and opens his front door in time to greet Nami and Luffy as they park her black sedan. Luffy bounds up the stairs, two bags of food in hand and greets him with a smile, impatient as always to sit down and eat.

Nami walks in behind him, annoyance across her face, "It took an act of God to keep him from eating all the fries."

Zoro chuckles as he closes the door behind her. Already seated at the dining room table, Luffy's ripping into the greasy paper bags trying to find his sandwich.

"Hold it right there." Nami yells, tearing the bag away from Luffy's eager hands, causing him to pout. "I will pass out the food so you don't 'accidentally' eat my burger like last time."

"Yeah, okay." Luffy agrees, with a sheepish chuckle as Nami pulls out three burgers and divvies them up appropriately.

Zoro takes a seat across from Luffy, shredding his own metallic wrapper and digging into his burger hungrily. They eat in silence for a brief moment, all enjoying the first few bites of their lunches in bliss. The owner might be a total creep, but Groggy's is still the best.

Finally Luffy belches and asks, "Where's Oni?"

"Probably sleeping under my bed. She'll come out," Zoro responds between bites.

"Zoro, you need a roommate or a girlfriend or something," Nami declares, setting her burger down and putting on what Usopp calls her "professor" face. Anytime she's about to lecture or educate one of them, she makes the same face, falsely sweet but also patronizing.

He avoids her comment and continues his lunch, slapping Luffy's greedy fingers away from his fries.

"I'm serious!" She puts her hands on her hips, pouting because neither he nor Luffy are paying attention to her great wisdoms.

"Zoro's fine, he's got Oni." Luffy answers for him. As a gesture of thanks, Zoro lets him pilfer two fries.

"Literally all of us have someone else, Luffy. He's the only single person in our group, except Chopper," Nami continues, starting phase two of being annoying. If the professor look doesn't work, then talking about someone like they're not in the room is her next tactic.

Luffy shrugs, polishing off the last of his fries. Zoro licks his fingers clean of the salt from his own meal, patting his gut in satisfaction.

"Enjoy your meals?" Nami asks, eyeing the two of them as they lean back in their chairs, sighing in unison.

"Hell yeah, Groggy's is the best." Luffy nods, on the edge of a food coma. It takes a Double Monster Bacon Cheeseburger to do the trick, but it's one of the few places that can actually fill him up. Kid's got a killer metabolism.

"Good. Zoro, you owe me thirty bucks."

That got his attention. Zoro turns to glare at her smiling face as she nibbles on her sandwich. "How the hell is it thirty bucks?"

"Mine and yours," she points to her sandwich and then to his stomach before moving her manicured finger to Luffy, "and his."

"Where's your part?" Zoro asks Luffy as he stands to find his wallet.

"I'm broke," he laughs before spotting Oni walking into the room. "Oni! There you are!"

Immediately the two of them are off chasing each other up and down the hall. Luffy's one of those rare people that can make the usually shy cat want to play. This is their normal ritual, playing tag around the house before they get bored with it and roll around on the floor.

Down in the cellar, Sanji's managed to wake himself up despite the drugged haze he feels in his head. Whatever was on that rag from earlier did a number on his pounding skull. He sits up awkwardly, his hands cuffed behind him making it hard to find a comfortable position. Shuffling around on the mattress, he manages to sit up and take in his new surroundings. The mattress is grimy and there's no blankets or pillows, but it's more comfortable than that metal chair. His back is already feeling better.

His headache gets worse with every step that thumps above him, as though someone was running across the floor. He may be happy to be out of the chair but certainly not happy to be in this new position. The mattress and the shackles means the Green Bastard plans on keeping him here long term. His stomach groans in hunger and his mouth is dry from the rag forced into it. Now more than ever, he's motivated to find a way out of the cellar.

Tentatively, he rattles his chain to see how much noise it makes. Not too much, but maybe enough to be noticeable. Considering he'd heard the mumble of several voices earlier, he can assume that there are people above him. Hopefully he'll get their attention. He shakes his feet to rattle the chain as loud as he can and watches the ceiling, trying to listen for any sign that he's been heard.

"What's that noise?" Luffy asks, suddenly stopping his running with the cat.

Sanji hears the footsteps stop above him and his heart races, praying it means someone heard him. He rattles his chain harder, making his calves burn at the awkward angle.

Luffy takes a uncertain step towards Zoro's bedroom, causing Zoro to rise slightly from his seat at the table with Nami. What does Luffy hear? Nami stops mid-sentence and silence falls over the house.

His eyes narrow, wondering if there's any chance Luffy could hear the man in the cellar. It's impossible, though. Zoro's checked several times before, making sure there's no way the sounds from below reach up to the main part of the house. And he can't hear anything himself. Knowing the positioning of his cellar, the man's bed should be right underneath the dining room table he's seated at.

Before he can stand up to investigate, Luffy's back from the bedroom with Zoro's vibrating phone in hand.

"It's Traffy," he announces, using his stupid nickname for Law. "I'm answering it."

"Hey! It's me!" Luffy greets, locating one of Oni's toys in the living room and dangling it over her.

Zoro watches as Luffy nods a couple times while listening to Law before making a peculiar face. "Well, he's right here."

Luffy hands him the phone and goes back to playing with Oni.

"What's up?" he asks, concerned with Luffy's reaction.

"Just got word from Mihawk. The jury found Crocodile not guilty. Let him go scot-free."

Zoro's face darkens with rage, not wanting to comprehend what he just heard.

"Two eye-witness testimonies," he growls, catching Nami's worried eye.

"I know," Law sighs, "Thought I'd let you know personally. We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Thanks." Zoro hangs up the phone and slams it on the table.

Down below, Sanji ceases his rattling, hearing the footsteps continue above him. It's no use. He tries bending his legs and pulling against the chains as hard as he can but they don't budge. His ankles are already sore and swollen from his attempts to get out of the chair. He can already tell that this new apparatus will be even harder to slip out of. He wants to cry out in frustration, but the stupid fucking rag in his mouth keeps his screams to muffled whimpers.

Kicking the wall as hard as he can, the chains between his ankles pull taut, reminding him of just how restricted his limbs are. Fiddling with the cuffs behind him, he's disappointed to find that they're high-end and impenetrable. This guy's fucking good.

Zoro crosses his arms, staring at his phone angrily. Nami taps her nails on the surface of the table, obviously uncomfortable with the change in atmosphere.

"What happened?" she asks hesitantly. Luffy continues rattling Oni's toys.

"Bad guy got away," Zoro sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Nami nods understandingly, "You'll get the next one."

Zoro nods and gifts her with a small smile, wanting her to change the subject. She smiles back and returns to her earlier story. Her talking fades to the background as Zoro stares down the hall to his bedroom door. Sure, he'll get the next one but he'll get this one too, even if it means delivering his own sentence.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Sanji lies on the dirty mattress, stretching his legs behind him, trying to ignore the throbbing in his feet and ankles. They're bruised and swollen from his kicking and chain rattling. The most comfortable position he's found is sprawled out on his stomach since his hands are cuffed behind him. He has no way of telling time but it feels like it's been several hours since his earlier attempts at catching anyone's attention. The footsteps above were pretty active until a little while ago. Now he just lays in silence, only the sounds of the building creaking and the grumbles of his stomach to keep him company.

Sighing, he closes his eyes and concentrates on anything except the gnawing in his gut. He was hungry when he'd left work that night, planning on making dinner when he got home. Obviously that never happened since he's been trapped in this basement. Experience has taught him fortitude with hunger but it's miserable all the same.

Sanji opens his eyes and tilts his head up. Scraping sounds are heard above, like a chair being pushed away from a table. Heavy footsteps follow, a lazy series of thumps, distinctly different from the earlier tapping. Before it sounded like someone who moved jovially, more like a prance. Whoever this is, they move with purpose. Mostly likely the Green Bastard.

Rolling onto his side, he manages to sit himself up, wanting to listen closer to the sounds above him. He watches the dark ceiling and follows the thuds of the steps, first fading away and then descending, like someone coming downstairs.

Eyes alert on the entryway, he prays that there's any chance of it being someone for rescue. Deep inside he knows the odds are slim but he still hopes, holding his breath, as the door swings open. Disappointed, he exhales – almost in a snort – as his captor walks into the room. He has a stack of blankets and a pillow tucked under arm. Oddly enough, he leaves the door open a crack, which is something Sanji hasn't noticed him do before.

The man sets his belongings down by the mattress. Sanji glimpses his face and immediately his stomach howls in protest, as he realizes that asshole has what appears to be a stick of pepperoni or sausage gripped between his teeth. If his mouth didn't have a rag shoved in it, he'd be drooling right now.

Kneeling next to Sanji, the spice of the pepperoni wafts stronger and causes his stomach to whine. If the other man noticed, there's no indication, as he reaches over and tugs the rag out of Sanji's mouth. This time the man is equipped for his coughs, water bottle in hand and ready to pour. Sanji slurps down the water greedily, more energized with each gulp. When he's finished, he nods his head and the bottle is removed and set down beside his bed.

"Thanks." He hates that he's thanking a man who has him tied up, but he doesn't want to seem ungracious. The guy doesn't have to bring him water or hell, didn't even have to untie him from that chair. Given the fact that he could be dead right now, he's truly grateful for what he has.

The man nods in response and stands to leave. Now completely capable of drooling, Sanji watches in agony as he finishes off his snack, oblivious to the fact that Sanji's stomach feels like it's eating his backbone.

"Hey," Sanji calls out, resolving to test his luck.

The man turns his head and looks in his direction.

"Hey, uh, could I maybe have something to eat?" Sanji gulps, crossing his fingers behind him that this will work.

Without word, Green Bastard trudges out of the room but doesn't close the door. Sanji can hear his footsteps ascend to the main floor and tread across the building to an area that's close to above where he's sitting. A few minutes later the sounds of the man's return can be heard descending towards the door and he pops back into the cellar. Sanji spies a sandwich wrapped in a napkin in his hand.

Setting the meal on the floor next to the water bottle from earlier, his captor turns to walk away before Sanji halts him, "Wait! How am I supposed to eat this?"

The man twists back with a frown, before realizing what Sanji means. His hands are cuffed behind his back. There's no way he can feed himself. He'll either have to get a hand free or the Green Bastard will have to feed him. Judging the annoyance on his face, Sanji assumes he doesn't like that option either.

With an aggravated huff, the man returns to his workstation and starts searching through his drawers. Sanji's heart starts pounding as he hears the jingle of keys. This is the opportunity he's been waiting for. Once his handcuffs are off, if he acts quickly enough, he may have a chance at overpowering the guy.

Desperately, he searches the room while the man's back is turned. There's nothing within reach that could be used as a weapon. Now more than ever he wishes he were abducted while wearing shoes. Sanji settles on waiting for the perfect moment to kick the Green Bastard. He might even be able to use the chain to his advantage and try to position it around the man's throat. No matter what, he has to try.

The man is back by his bed, eyeing Sanji up and down, also studying the situation. He squats next to the mattress and delivers a mean glare, emanating an intense aura similar to when he almost killed Sanji.

"Legs straight out front."

Sanji balks, wondering what the plan could be. He needs his legs in order to pull off any escape attempt. His hesitation is noticed, his captor's frown deepening. Not wanting to risk him changing his mind, Sanji quickly complies.

With a sharp nod, Green Bastard kneels on the edge of the mattress and crawls over Sanji, firmly sitting on his legs, about halfway up his thighs.

"You motherfu-" Sanji bites his tongue. If he wants to make it out alive, he really needs to watch his mouth.

"Think I'd give you the chance to kick me?" the bastard snickers, apparently proud of his foresight. "Can tell your legs are strong."

Sanji's blood boils – sick and tired of taking this guy's shit. He has no idea who he is or why he's locked Sanji up other than the creep thinking he has something to do with some shitty crime he didn't commit. Now he's blocking any likely chance of Sanji getting away. Asshole.

Their bodies are close and Sanji can feel heat and power radiating off the other man. Knees still firmly planted on either side of his legs, he leans over, his chest pressing against Sanji's shoulder, and fumbles with the cuffs on his wrists. A few breaths and then one wrist is freed, the other one still cuffed and clenched tightly in the man's grip.

Immediately Sanji balls his free hand into a fist, putting as much power as he can muster into his punch. Before it connects to the side of the shitty bastard's green head, a tan hand halts his swing.

"Nice try," the man smirks before swiftly bringing both hands together and cuffing them with the ease and experience of a seasoned police officer.

"Fuck you," Sanji snarls, his frustration breaking the filter he's kept on his mouth.

The crack of skin echoes against the walls and rings in Sanji's ears. His cheek ignites on fire as the force of a hard smack jerks his head so vigorously he feels his neck will snap. He peeks under his bang at the man positioned in his lap, hand still raised and face hardened into a deep-set scowl.

Wordlessly, he removes himself from Sanji's legs and sits on the damp floor by the mattress, glaring at Sanji the whole time.

"Eat," he commands, picking up the sandwich and shoving it into Sanji's hands.

Sanji nods slowly and bites into his sandwich. Although his face stings and his jaw feels bruised, he quickly swallows his meal, unsure of when his next one will be. Washing his ham and cheese down with the last of the water bottle, he briefly makes eye contact with Green Bastard, who continues sitting at his bedside.

Curiosity getting to the best of him, Sanji tentatively asks, "Why are you still here?"

The man shrugs, "Figured you didn't look the type to piss yourself. Gonna take you to the shitter." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black switchblade. "Don't make me have to use this."

Sanji's jaw drops, the pain of the earlier smack seeming like a distant memory. He's lucky the psycho bastard didn't slit his throat.

The man stands and picks up the used napkin and empty water bottle, walking across the room and setting them on the workbench. He also closes the door and locks it from the inside, doing what he can to prevent Sanji's escape. After he flashed that switchblade, however, Sanji knows he's not reckless enough to try to pull something again. He needs more cunning next time; simply overpowering this guy is not possible.

The man returns and unlocks the part of the leg cuffs attached to the wall, keeping Sanji's feet securely fastened. Between his bindings and the stiffness of his body, Sanji's not sure he can stand up. Scooting to the side of the mattress, he plants his socked feet firmly to the ground and hoists himself up, standing completely for the first time since he's arrived in the basement. His knees buckle slightly but he steadies himself, the stretching helping his stiff legs. The man has a hold of the other end of his chain and nods towards an entryway on the other side of the room.

Sanji shuffles over slowly, taking small steps due to the restrictive chains at his feet. Poking his head into the doorway he was motioned to, he's shocked to find an old toilet and sink set up in a tiny closet-sized space. The plumbing looks antiquated, the toilet not even having a proper handle on it but one of those pull-chains instead. Bizarre.

"Get to it," Green Bastard orders, shouldering him into the bathroom.

Sanji stands in front of the toilet awkwardly, unsure of how he's going to manage unbuttoning his pants and pissing, especially with an audience.

"Fuck it," he mutters, figuring he needs to try to go now before he ends up having to actually wet himself later. He's relieved to see the Green Bastard turn his back and give him a little privacy. With some fumbling, he manages to undo his pants and complete his business.

Within minutes, his pants are zipped, hands washed, and he's back to the mattress with the chain reattached to the wall. The man nods at the pillow and blankets on the ground before he takes his exit, turning off the light on the way out, leaving Sanji to lie in the dark.

* * *

"Where the dickens did you come from?!"

Zoro sighs and looks up from his newspaper. Mihawk stands in the break room doorway, coffee mug in hand and scowling. His glare is direct at Zoro's hair, which is a bit more disheveled than normal. Piercing eyes lower and narrow at the sight of a wrinkled shirt. Zoro knew he'd get shit for it but expected to at least be able to eat his breakfast in peace.

It was a rough morning, his typical routine thrown off by the fact that he had to take time to check on Sanji. This whole thing is becoming one giant pain in his ass.

"Was running late." Zoro returns to his newspaper and takes another bite of his banana ignoring Mihawk's continued scoffing.

"Yet you have time to sit around like a bored gorilla," Mihawk deadpans and crosses the room to fill up his coffee mug.

"Law ain't here yet," Zoro responds, hoping talking with his mouth full will make the bastard leave.

Seems to do the trick, as Mihawk turns on his heel and heads out the door, polished shoes click-clacking on the linoleum as he goes. Smug with himself, Zoro finishes off his banana and tosses the peel in the trash as he turns the page.

"Watch it!"

Usopp enters the room, barely managing to duck underneath Zoro's trash, juggling a pink box in his hands. Thrusting the box in Zoro's direction, he opens the lid to reveal two lines of sugary, glazed doughnuts.

"Too sweet," Zoro scrunches his nose as he pushes the box away, declining the offer. Usopp shrugs and closes the lid, setting the box down on the break room table.

"Heard about that case," he tries to say casually but curiosity is written all over his face, "You and Law worked hard on it."

"Don't know the details yet, Usopp. Waiting for Law."

As if summoned, Law shuffles into the room, red thermos in hand. All the free coffee in the world stuffed into the cabinets of the dinky break room and he brings his own from home every day.

"Mornin' Law! Want a doughnut?" Usopp excitedly opens his box and sticks it in Law's face, causing him to wince.

"No thanks, too sweet."

"You two spend too much time together," Usopp mutters before closing the lid to his box and waving goodbye.

Zoro tips his water bottle as farewell before taking a swig, calm settling in the room with Usopp's departure. Law continues his morning routine, dumping creamer into his thermos. Brings his own coffee, uses office creamer. They all stopped trying to figure him out a long time ago.

Done at the coffee station, Law turns to him and nods at the door. "Shall we?"

Zoro stands, folding his newspaper and leaving it on the table for someone else to read. They walk down the hall in silence, the shuffle and buzz of office work all around, phones ringing, group debriefings. The building houses several law enforcement teams, their floor in particular belonging to the Homicide Division. Mihawk is Sergeant to all of them but seems to take a special liking to him and Law. They can never tell if that's good or bad.

Turning into their small office, Zoro shuts the door and leans against it. Law sits on his desk, examining the tattoos on his hands.

"How?" Zoro asks.

"Don't know."

"Two eye-witnesses."

"He has money."

"Motherfucker," Zoro shoves off the door and walks to the middle of the small room, rubbing his temple, "Think he'll skip town?"

"No doubt, they always do." Law laughs bitterly, taking a sip of his coffee. "Two counts murder, one count rape."

"Not guilty on all three."

Zoro kicks the side of his desk, aggravation swelling from deep inside him. Sick fucks that can pay their ways out of convictions disgust him more than any of the others. Old money is dangerous and plentiful in their northern city. Bored rich kids growing into twisted adults, falling back on their fortune when they get caught being the depraved sons of bitches they are. This is exactly why he does what he does. Someone has to take out the trash when the system is so corrupt.

"Takes some balls to hand out a 'not guilty' when a victim testifies," Law muses, tattooed hands wrapped around his thermos. Zoro glances at his knuckles reading _DEATH_ in bold, black lettering. He smirks knowing that's exactly the fate Crocodile will meet once Zoro gets his own hands on him.

"Got dinner plans?"

Zoro cocks an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic and sits on the edge of his desk, shaking his head.

"Luffy wants you to come out with us. I believe Nami and Usopp will also be there."

Zoro crosses his arms, staring at the carpet in front of him. He has shit to do - the Crocodile case, the blond in the basement…

"He told me to tell you he's 'cashing in.'"

Shit. That stupid fucking bet. Luffy has a tendency to gamble on stupid shit, like "I bet you can't chug a beer in under 30 seconds" or "I bet Usopp won't notice me put ice down his shirt." It's so ridiculous that no one can help getting sucked in. It's never for real money, usually small favors. Or bites of food. Zoro owes him a loss for betting that Chopper couldn't shotgun a beer. Little guy shocked them all. Luffy said he was going to wait for the "right moment" to use it.

Door bursting open, their conversation is interrupted, Mihawk appearing on the other side. Glancing between the two of them seated on top of their desks, he places his hands on his hips, his face dark but deadly calm.

"Well, men, are we having a picnic?"

They make eye contact before shaking their heads.

"Then get to work."

* * *

He needs a fucking cigarette.

Sanji continues prodding at his bindings, trying to find any way of getting them loose. He's been at it for hours, ever since Green Bastard left. He's pretty sure he's in a cellar under the guy's house; it's the only thing that makes sense given how often he seems to be around.

Frustrated, he drops the chain and runs his hands through his hair, tugging at blond strands. Nicotine withdrawal is a son of a bitch under normal circumstances but the extra stress of being kidnapped, almost murdered, and chained up has him especially on edge. Just one fucking cigarette. Maybe he can get Green Bastard to give him a pack of smokes…

Sanji laughs at the thought. No fucking way.

He stands up on the grimy mattress and attempts to shake the dust off. He'd managed to make a nest out of the blankets but still feels dirty as hell, two days in this disgusting place with no shower. Shuffling off the side of the mattress, he hops to the floor, the cement feeling cold under his socked feet. He may not be able to go very far or move his legs well but it's still nice to stand.

At least his hands are still cuffed in front of him and he doesn't have that damn rag in his mouth today.

Staring at the metal chair in the middle of the room, Sanji lets his mind wander back to the same question he's mulled over ever since that knife was removed from his neck and his life was spared: Why?

It was obvious that the man's every intention was to kill him that night, so why didn't he follow through? What made him stop? Why did he remove Sanji from that chair? Go through the trouble of installing the chain in the wall and bringing down that mattress? Feeding him, giving him water, pillow and blankets.

A sick sense of understanding twists deep inside, threatening to bubble up every time he ponders why the Green Bastard has him bound to a _bed_. The way he's always staring at Sanji, expressionless and calm, it makes chills run up his spine. His memory fades to the moment his captor was seated upon him, how easily he overpowered Sanji. It would be impossible to fight if he…

Sanji turns his back on the chair and shuffles to his bed, squatting down and sitting on the side of the mattress. Knees curled, he tucks his cuffed hands into his lap and stares down at the chains attached to his legs, concentrating once again on his escape plan.

* * *

Zoro spots Law's black Buick as he walks across a familiar parking lot towards the restaurant. He had time to kill after work, opting not to drive all the way home just to turn around and come back to the city, so he went to the gym and lost track of time. Hair still damp from his post-workout shower and dressed in a spare outfit he had in his gym bag, he's glad they chose somewhere casual.

Opening the wooden door to the restaurant, he's greeted by the gaudy nautical theme and a bustling sea of people, swamped with the dinner rush. Searching the crowd, he spots Nami's red hair and heads in that direction, his pace slowing as he walks closer and catches a glimpse who's at the table.

Seated in a round booth are Nami and Usopp on one side, Law and Luffy in the middle, and a strange looking man with surprisingly green hair across from Nami. Zoro had never seen him before in his life but based on seating arrangements and Usopp's arm wrapped around Nami's shoulder, he can tell this is something other than just a casual friend outing. Luffy's eyes land on him and his face lights up in a grin, making a pointing motion to the random stranger sitting at the table and it hits him full force: this is some kind of set up.

A goddamn blind date.

Annoyed that he'd been duped, Zoro briefly considers turning around and just leaving, but Luffy is waving at him wildly and causing a scene so it's best to stay. Plus he owes Luffy. Glancing at the bottles of liquor lining the expansive bar, Zoro sighs and makes his way to the table, Luffy practically bouncing out of his seat by the time he arrives.

"Hey! Hey! This is Barto," Luffy whoops as soon as Zoro's within reasonable distance, "Barto, this is Zoro."

Barto stretches out a hand, his face spreading into a wide smile. Zoro notices a gold piercing hanging out of his septum and feathers lining the hood of his jacket. This guy's a piece of work, between the jewelry, the checkered pants, and the green mohawk. Maybe it's a misunderstanding and he's just a new friend of Luffy's. Zoro grasps the man's waiting hand and gives it a firm shake. However, Barto's hand lingers on Zoro's when they make eye contact and he gives Zoro a cheeky grin, one that confirms that this is definitely some kind of date.

Zoro pulls his hand away and immediately walks to Nami's side of the table, bending down and whispering threateningly to Usopp, "Move over or else."

"What?! N-no way, man," Usopp responds, standing his ground even though his voice is trembling.

Nami overhears this exchange and delivers Zoro a glare, leaning over the dark-haired man and scolding, "Go sit by Barto."

Zoro shoots her his dirtiest look but it doesn't work, her stubbornness matching his own. Barto and Luffy are oblivious to this exchange, having picked back up their prior conversation. Usopp looks back and forth between his girlfriend and Zoro, crumbling under the tension between their stare.

Finally, Nami rolls her eyes, "Look – it was Luffy's idea. I'll buy you a drink."

Zoro picks up Usopp's almost full beer and chugs it, earning an appalled squawk from Usopp and an amused chuckle from Law. Zoro sets the empty mug on the table and points his finger menacingly at Nami, "That's the drink Usopp owes me. Now you owe me a whiskey."

"Fine, just go sit down already, asshole."

Zoro complies, returning to his side of the table and sliding into the booth next to Barto, looking around the room for a server. A young girl seems to spot him searching because she smiles at him and nods, indicating she'll be by in a minute.

"So Luffy says you're a cop?" Barto asks politely, irking Zoro even further. He hates small talk, especially small talk where he has to talk about himself. That waitress better hurry over.

"Detective," he corrects as he opens the drink menu, locating the most expensive whiskey on the list.

"Yeah, he's Law's partner," Luffy chimes in. He opens his mouth to say more but is interrupted by the waitress appearing at their table with a tray of steamed oysters.

"Sorry it took so long," she apologizes as she sets the food down, "our head chef is missing so the kitchen is a little behind."

"Missing?" Law asks, leaning forward and going full detective-mode.

"Oh no, I don't mean anything serious," she laughs, pulling out a pad of paper from her apron, "He's just been away for a couple days. Things get a bit crazy without him."

Law nods and leans back in his seat as the waitress asks Usopp if he needs another beer.

"What'll it be for you?" she turns to ask Zoro.

"Johnnie Walker. Neat. And a Sam Adams."

"Any food?"

"Fish and chips."

She scribbles on her pad. "Got it. I'll have your drinks out in a minute."

As soon as the waitress is out of earshot, Nami reaches across the table and snatches the drink menu, flying through the pages to locate the price of Zoro's drink. Her eyes widen once she finds it, "Seriously, Zoro?"

"Sucks that the chef isn't here. Been wanting to try this place for awhile," Usopp complains while digging an oyster out of its shell.

"Oysters are fresh," Law quips, sucking one right out of the husk. To his right, Luffy stuffs his face with oyster after oyster, melted butter dribbling on his chin.

"This place is great," Barto turns to Zoro, "Ever been here before?"

"Once," Zoro responds, reaching over and grabbing some shellfish for himself, "For lunch."

Their server returns with drinks, Zoro slamming back his whiskey immediately. Pointing at the beer, he makes sure she knows to keep the booze flowing.

"How do you and Luffy know each other?" Barto inquires innocently.

The mix of beer and liquor warming him up, Zoro decides to try to be a little friendlier. It's not the guy's fault that his friends are a bunch of morons. "Arrested him back when I was on the streets. Was shocked when I found out that little hoodlum was the Deputy Chief's grandson."

Luffy laughs proudly at Zoro's recollection. For some strange reason, Barto seems awestruck. Maybe he has a thing for cops?

"What did you arrest him for?" he questions further.

"Destruction of city property. Threw a damn rock and took out my cruiser tail light."

The whole table laughs, peculiarly Barto and Luffy laughing the loudest. Barto places a hand on Luffy's arm, "You're such a cool dude."

Zoro raises his eyebrows at this, looking at the rest of the table. Everyone else seems to have caught it too, except Luffy, who continues laughing along with Barto. Law's steely gaze darts from his cell phone and locks on the man's hand, still resting on Luffy's arm.

Finishing off his beer, Zoro is pleased to see the waitress delivering another round of drinks to the table, assuring them that their mains will be out shortly.

Stirring her drink with her fingertip, Nami coughs lightly and tries to change the subject, "So what do you do, Barto?"

He removes his hand finally and takes a sip of his drink, some piss yellow light beer. Lightweight. "I'm between jobs at the moment."

"Just like Luffy!" Usopp takes a cheap jab, giggling into his beer.

"Damn man… shut up." Luffy frowns.

This was the wrong move on Usopp's part because Barto throws an arm around Luffy's shoulders, comforting him with a laugh, "It's okay, we can be bums together!"

Law throws back his drink, slamming his empty glass on the table. Zoro can tell as well as anyone else that Barto's behavior is striking a chord. If he gets liquored up enough, he'll probably tell the guy off.

"Hey, want another drink?" Zoro offers with a devilish grin.

"Jack and Coke Zero," Law answers, Luffy completely oblivious to his misery. Probably 'cause he's always such a miserable bastard.

Then it hits Zoro, "Jack and Coke _Zero_?"

Law gives him the finger as Zoro stands from the booth, shaking his head. Making his way across the crowded restaurant, he reaches the bar and finds a place to sit and flag down the bartender. A middle-aged man approaches him, his baldhead shining in the soft light of the restaurant.

"Double shot of Jack for me. Jack and Coke Zero for my buddy," Zoro orders. With luck, the bartender pulls out the glasses right in front of him, making it easy to start up a conversation. "Packed in here. My waitress said your head chef split, guess its not hurting business too much?"

The bartender shakes his head, sliding the shot into Zoro's hand. "Nah, business is as good as ever. The kid's been gone for a couple days; they said he took a vacation. Old man Zeff, the original owner, died a few months back. Chef's been taking it hard."

The great thing about local businesses is they don't have the same filter as huge corporations do. They're more personable, more forthcoming with information. Zoro's used it to his advantage quite a few times, both professionally and with his side work.

"That's a relief. Our waitress made it sound like he was seriously missing."

The bartender rolls his eyes as he sets down the other drink, leaning against the bar with a hand on his hip, "These girls just like the drama. Patty and Carne stopped by the boss' place and he wasn't there, bag packed and gone. Bus schedule printed out on the counter, they said. Kid just needed a break, clear his head or something."

Zoro smiles, finishing his drink and picking up Law's abomination, "Thanks for the drinks and conversation. Put 'em on my tab."

The bartender nods and picks up the ten Zoro left on the counter for him, moving onto the next guest as Zoro turns to leave.

Back at the table, Zoro's amused to see that the state of things hasn't much changed. Barto and Luffy are loudly chattering, Law's glaring at Barto murderously, Nami and Usopp trying to distract him with conversation. Zoro takes a seat back in his spot and slides the drink over to Law, happy to see the waitress brought him another beer while he was gone.

Law gulps down half the drink and turns to Zoro, intentionally ignoring the two next to him. "Mihawk said we have a debriefing tomorrow with some of the higher ups."

Zoro takes a swig of his beer and belches in response.

Liquor hitting Law pretty hard, he actually smirks before fixing his face back into a disgusted frown.

"Nice one!" Luffy cheers, clapping and egging Zoro on.

Barto grabs his own beer, which looks lukewarm and therefore even more like piss water than before, and chugs it down, causing himself to belch as well. Law shoots him a sour look, Barto's thinly veiled attempt at impressing Luffy quickly uncovered.

"We are not starting this game," Nami chides, side-eyeing Usopp as he slurps down his own drink. His gulping slows and he quietly burps into his hand.

"We should hang out more often, this is really fun," Barto says directly to Luffy. He hasn't said much to the rest of them, so there's no way he means the entire group.

Luffy nods, "That'd be awesome! You're a cool dude."

A blush tinges the man's cheeks, mistaking Luffy's friendliness for a compliment. Dense as ever, Luffy doesn't seem to realize that he's leading Barto to a very different assumption.

Zoro notices Law's glass is empty and the liquor's taken its effect. His normally pale cheeks are flushed and his usual grim scowl is deeper and more menacing than usual. Law taps Luffy on the shoulder, causing him to turn to turn his head towards Law. Suddenly, he grabs Luffy's face, their lips locking in a searing kiss. Nami facepalms, Usopp snickers, and Zoro swallows the rest of his drink with a smirk.

The color drains from Barto's face – unsure of how to react, he just watches as Luffy returns Law's kiss before pulling away, grin splattered across his face.

"Excuse me," Barto mutters, scooting over and motioning for Zoro to stand up so he can make his leave from the table. As Zoro sits back down, he locks eyes with Usopp and the two of them can't help but chuckle.

Just as quickly as he left, Barto returns babbling about having missed an important call and needing to leave. He throws a twenty on the table, waves goodbye to them all, and disappears into the crowd.

"What the fuck, Luffy?" Zoro growls immediately after his departure, motioning to the spot the man just stood in.

"You both have green hair, thought you'd get along."

"For fuck's sake."

"I don't think Zoro was the one he was interested in," Usopp chortles.

"Yeah, he was kinda weird," Luffy admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He turns to Law, who is grinning, absolutely pleased with him. "Sorry, Traffy."

"I need another Jack and Coke Zero."

They laugh and drink through the night, the awkwardness lifted with Barto gone. Food's devoured pretty quickly after it arrives and they stay a good bit after they've cleared their plates. By the time their tabs are paid and they're standing out front of the restaurant, under the big blue 'Baratie' sign, Zoro realizes he's way too drunk to drive home.

Staggering slightly, he looks at his keys in his hands and mutters, "Fuck."

Usopp plucks the keys out of his hand and swings them around his index finger, "Nami and I stopped drinking when we got our food. I'll drive you home."

"What 'bout you?" Zoro asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Nami's going to drive Law's car to his place. We parked there and rode with him so she can come pick me up after."

Zoro agrees and the group says goodbye, splitting towards their separate vehicles. Law's leaned over Luffy's shoulder, gripping his stomach and whining about needing to puke. Sure enough, he starts retching into the bushes as Zoro climbs into the passenger seat of his SUV.

Zoro reaches into the backseat and tugs out his gym bag as Usopp starts up the car. Digging through his bag, he finds what he's looking for: a small bottle of Jim Beam.

Usopp glances over as he backs out of the parking space, shaking his head, "You're such an alcoholic."

Zoro opens the bottle and takes a swig, causing Usopp to swerve slightly trying to reach over and shove Zoro's bottle out of sight. "You're a fucking cop! You're breaking the open container law!"

"Hate to tell you this but that's not the only law I break," Zoro snickers.

Usopp glances over at him expectantly, worry painted across his face.

"Sometimes I jaywalk."

Usopp punches him in the shoulder, chuckling at his wisecrack, "You're such a dick."

They spend the rest of their ride mostly in silence, periodically cracking jokes at Barto's or Law's expense. By the time Usopp pulls into Zoro's driveway, the bottle of Jim Beam is empty and he's completely toasted.

"Nice night, mind waiting outside?" Zoro asks as they climb out of his car. Usopp tosses him the keys, Zoro pocketing them.

"Sounds good to me. Besides, I'm allergic to cats."

Zoro nods and opens the hatchback of his car. The two of them sit on the bumper, legs dangling and stare into the dark waiting for Nami.

"That guy was a weirdo but Luffy had good intentions," Usopp starts but Zoro waves a hand, motioning that continuing isn't necessary.

"Y'all worry too much," Zoro slurs, gazing up at the starry night sky. Best thing about living away from the city is being able to see the stars. Reminds him of home.

"'Must be drunk, the Mississippi is coming out of you," Usopp teases, earning him a soft punch to the shoulder.

"Shut up, ya damn Yankee."

Usopp's cell phone rings, interrupting their laughter. Zoro continues to stare at the night sky, the booze causing his mind to spin. It's rare that he gets completely loaded but when he does, he finds he's mostly content. Drunk and happy.

"Nami's almost here."

Sure enough, ten minutes or so later, headlights turn into Zoro's driveway, temporarily blinding the two of them, as the car gets closer. Nami dims the lights as she parks and leans out the window, waving at Usopp.

He hops off the back of the SUV and climbs into the passenger seat of Nami's sedan, yelling goodbye to Zoro.

Zoro waves back at them and watches the small vehicle reverse out of his driveway and head back towards the city.

Standing, Zoro digs into the pocket of his jeans and locates his keys. Closing the hatchback, he presses the lock button, causing the headlights to flash the horn to beep. Walking to his front door, he sways as he goes, drunker than he expected to be.

Unlocking the door, he swings it open and tosses his keys on the entryway table. Door closed again, he locks up for the night before turning on the light. Oni looks up from her spot on the back of the couch and yawns, welcoming him home.

Wandering into the kitchen, he opens the fridge and grabs a beer. Doesn't really need one but why not, just a couple more before bed. Twisting off the cap he takes a swig and opens his cabinets. They're mostly barren; he needs to go shopping soon. Grabbing a bag of potato chips for Sanji, he spots his bag of pepperoni sticks and grabs that too.

Deciding to open the fridge once again, he pulls out a bottle of water and a second beer for the road. Everything in the kitchen closed back up, he turns off the light and walks down the dark hallway to his bedroom.

Sanji can tell by the heavy footsteps above that the Green Bastard is finally home. Even without access to a clock, he knows the man's been gone for a long time. His hunger and his thirst are indicative of that. Sitting with his back against the wall he waits and listens to the telling noises of his captor paying him a visit.

Within minutes the door is swung open and the man enters the room, food and drinks tucked under arm and a brown beer bottle in hand. His presence is different, more relaxed. Sanji watches him dump his load onto the counter of the workbench and take a long pull of his beer before setting it down as well.

Green Bastard closes the door and locks it from the inside, tugging on it to make sure it doesn't budge. Pocketing his keys, he makes his way over to Sanji's bed, sly grin playing on his lips.

Crouching down in front of Sanji, he leans over and pulling on Sanji's chains, first checking the ones on his feet and then the cuffs around his wrists. Grabbing Sanji's ankle and keeping a firm grip, Green Bastards leans in closer. Sanji presses his back harder against the wall, smelling beer and liquor on the man's breath. Fuck, this has to be it. Figures he'd come do it while drunk. The hand around his ankle squeezes tighter, the man reaching his other hand towards Sanji. Heart pounding, Sanji's close to panicking, his legs twitching to kick at the bastard but the force of the man's hand keeping him from doing so.

Wordlessly, Green Bastard reaches past him and pulls on the post chaining Sanji to the wall, testing its security. Satisfied with the results, he leans back and releases Sanji's leg before standing up and returning to his beer.

Sanji swallows hard, body rigid from the Green Bastard being so close in his space. He felt the fucker's sour breath on his skin. Suddenly, a bag of chips lands on the bed next to him soon followed by a bottle of water. He looks up and the bastard's pulled out his stool setting it a couple feet from Sanji, using the arm of the metal chair as a mini-table for his beer.

Green Bastard munches on pepperoni sticks as Sanji picks up his chips. Sanji frowns at the label, they just happen to be his least favorite flavor.

"Don't like barbeque?" the man asks from his seat.

"Not particularly," the cook answers as he opens the bag, nibbling on a couple chips.

Thinking as he chews, Sanji begins solidifying his plan. The man is obviously drunk, words slurring ever so slightly. He reeks of booze. He's acting friendlier than usual. Sanji can use all of this to his advantage.

Finishing off his food, Sanji nods to himself, his plan cemented. Turning to the man, he takes a deep breath and asks, "Why are you doing this to me?"

The man tosses his bag into the seat of the metal chair and wipes his hands on his knees. He stands from his stool and guzzles down the rest of his beer, emptying the bottle completely. Forcefully, he slams the bottle against the side of the chair, smashing the bottom off and leaving jagged pieces of glass scatted on the floor. It's the kind of reaction Sanji was hoping for.

Instantly, the Green Bastard is looming over him, weapon in hand. Seizing Sanji by the collar of his shirt, he tugs him up vigorously, slamming him against the wall. Sanji stays silent, body limp, allowing himself to be manhandled by the dumb brute.

"A murderer like you," the man hisses, jaw clenched, "has no right to question my intentions."

The man's left hand holds the broken beer bottle, his right clenching Sanji's shirt collar and pinning him to the wall, leaving Sanji's legs free. Using the man's grip to his advantage, Sanji jumps and knees the Green Bastard in the stomach.

The man lets go of his shirt, doubling over from the hit he took to the gut. Sanji takes the opportunity to lunge for the broken bottle in the motherfucker's hand. It's a risk but the alcohol should have dulled his reflexes. The Green Bastard shocks him by reacting quickly, tossing the bottle across the room and out of reach. Asshole's more alert than he seems.

A hard punch darts out towards Sanji's side but he manages to dodge it miraculously, the chains at his feet keeping him from being too quick. Sanji grabs the man's head before he can stand back up fully and knees him sharply in the face. He feels the bastard's nose crack with the force and hopes this is the advantage he needs to take the man out completely.

Zoro sees red, his nose breaking from Sanji's attack. Enraged, he lashes out, delivering a hard punch to Sanji's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Sanji lets go of his head and Zoro stands, blood pouring down his face and onto his shirt. Trying to escape Zoro's next hit, Sanji manages to catch his feet in his chains and he's down, falling back onto the mattress

Zoro's immediately on top of him, breathing heavy through his mouth, blood spurting from his face onto Sanji's clothes. Hands grip Sanji's neck and he's choking him, trying to squeeze the last bit of life out of him. Sanji kicks and writhes underneath him, reaching up and hitting Zoro again in his broken nose, trying to distract him with pain. Zoro can't feel the pain, though. Can't feel anything other than pure rage. He has to kill this bastard and he has to kill him now.

The sound of screaming fills his ears as he continues strangling Sanji. He deserves it, Zoro keeps telling himself. He has to pay for what he did. This is the only way that girl will get justice. The only way Zoro can keep the streets safe. As if his hands belong to someone else, he feels his grip weaken around Sanji's throat, giving him a moment to gasp for air.

No matter how badly Zoro wants to kill him, every muscle in his body is telling him not to. He tightens his grip around Sanji's throat again, resolving to ignore his instincts, but finds himself unable to follow through. Releasing his hold once more, Zoro sits up, still straddling Sanji's body, and glares down at the man. He can't fucking do it.

Sanji gasps for air, reaching up to rub his throat. Their chests heave in unison, Zoro's face covered in blood and Sanji's splattered with it as well. The tension in the room fades away and Zoro starts to feel the throbbing pain of his broken nose. As his pulse calms, he recognizes the screaming he heard earlier was really the harsh shrill of his cell phone ringer.

Zoro pulls the phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen, realizing he has to take this call. Unsure of what else to do, he grabs one of the blankets and stuffs it in Sanji's mouth as a makeshift gag. Taking hold of Sanji's handcuffs, he makes sure there's no way he can pull the gag out and yell.

Tapping the button to answer the phone, Zoro almost jumps as he hears Mihawk's nasally voice fill the room and echo off of the walls.

"Roronoa."

Zoro fumbles to tap the button to take the phone off speaker but his drunkenness makes his usual incompetence with technology even worse, Mihawk's words continue to boom.

"Make sure you look halfway decent tomorrow. We have a debriefing."

"Got it," Zoro responds, finally getting the phone off of speaker. Too late, though. Mihawk's already hung up.

Zoro slides the phone across the cellar floor towards the door, way out of Sanji's reach. Keeping his hold on the handcuffs, he stands up slowly, careful not to bend his face too far forward and cause it to bleed more. Once he's off of the man, he lets go of the cuffs, Sanji's hands flying up to pull the blanket out of his mouth.

Zoro glances around the room, glass littering the floor from the smashed bottle. Fuck. He better clean this up, just in case. Silently, he locates a small broom in one of his cabinets and cleans the glass up off the floor, nose trickling blood from his bending over.

Sanji stares at the ceiling as the Green Bastard moves around the room, cleaning up the mess from their altercation. Sanji can feel the man's blood drying on his face but he doesn't care at this moment. His neck is sore and throat feels like its on fire from the stronghold Green Bastard had on it. This was his only chance at escape and he failed; his captor won't let his guard down ever again. It's over. He's done.

Without looking up, he hears the man gathering his stuff and exiting the room, door slamming and locking behind him. Sanji rolls onto his side, staring out at the dark space. Clearing his throat, he needs to test his vocal cords to make sure everything's still in working order.

Voice a raspy whisper, he says the only word that comes to mind, testing the name on his tongue, "Roronoa."

* * *

 **A/N: Modern AU headcanons are literally my favorite thing to talk about. I'm trying to wrap as many of mine into this fic. As always, thanks for the comments/reviews. Very motivating!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Clutching the sides of the sink, Zoro stares at himself in the mirror, knuckles white from the grip. Both eyes are already bruising, nose swollen. Dried blood cakes his neck and shirt, scabs already forming in his nostrils to stop the bleeding. That's the thing about broken noses – they bleed a shitload, worse than any other injury he's ever had. This one isn't his first and probably won't be his last.

He bends his head forward, closing his eyes, and tries to keep his breathing even. Fucked up. He fucked up again, keeps fucking up with that stupid piece of shit cook. Even in his drunkenness, he should have had the foresight to see what the little fucker was up to. He won't make that mistake again.

Unclenching his hold, he looks up and sighs heavily. His nose is healing crooked, needs to be reset.

Pulling aside the tan shower curtain, Zoro turns the faucet to let the water warm up. Undressing, he has slight trouble tugging off his t-shirt, the tacky blood making the collar stick to his skin. Completely disrobed, he absent-mindedly scratches his chest, fingers prodding the scar that runs across it. His body is littered with scars, his eye being his most noticeable but the chest scar is most prominent. Indenting his skin deeply, doctor's told him it won't fade, a constant reminder to him. Room turning steamy, he steps into the shower, searing water hitting his shoulders.

No point in washing off the blood until he gets his nose reset. Facing forward, he firms himself, making sure his stance is stable, just in case he blacks out. Creating a triangle with his fingers, he places his hands on either side of his nose and takes a deep breath. Jerking his hands forward and up, he can feel the crunching underneath his fingertips. Hot, white pain electrocutes through his eyes and surges down to his toes. Luckily, he stays conscious and once the pain subsides to an ache, he turns to face the water sprinkling from the showerhead. Blood streaming from his nose, he works on rinsing it away, scrubbing at the dried, sticky bits.

Zoro showers quickly, needing to tape his nose before it goes crooked again. Turning off the water, he pulls back the curtain and steps out, sopping wet. Can't waste time drying. Patting his face gently with his towel, he wipes away the last trickles of blood. Tape already set out on the counter, he tears off a piece, using his free hand to move his nose to the right position. Fitting it correctly, he tapes it off and starts drying the rest of his body. Finished, he throws his towel on the puddle of water his dripping created.

Not bothering to get dressed, Zoro turns off all the lights and climbs into bed, face throbbing and swelling. Cheap hit. Staring at the dark ceiling, he mentally re-watches the reel tape of that night so long ago, reminding himself exactly why all of this is worth it. Why he can't stop what he does, no matter what. With hardened resolve, he allows himself to sleep, the unspoken promise resting on his lips.

* * *

Darkness.

It surrounds him. Pitch black. Whether his eyes are opened or closed, it doesn't matter. No windows, no glow under the door, nothing. Why doesn't that bastard just leave the light on?

Running his tongue along his teeth, Sanji frowns, disgusted. Been days since he brushed them. Tongue isn't much better, either. Feels fuzzy, the taste of junk food and barbeque chips still resting on it from nights before.

Turning his head he winces, his neck sore from the night before. Even though he can't see himself, he's certain there are bruises speckling his skin. Most likely in the shape of two large hands. Anger, disappointment, defeat. He doesn't know what the fuck to feel anymore. He's just surviving, that's all he can focus on right now.

Reaching up with shackled hands, he scratches his hair, scalp itchy from dirt and grime. Rubbing his face, he feels the dried blood that splattered onto him from Green Bastard's nose. Given the amount of blood and the crack he heard, he definitely broke it. A small smile plays at his lips; at least he has one victory to be proud of.

Roronoa.

Sanji mouths it again, trying to taste each syllable. Thinks how to spell it, picturing the letters forming in front of his face. Writing's now a luxury, so he has to settle with imagining it. Weird name. Never heard it before, no idea what origin it could have. But it's forever ingrained in his head, etched directly on his brain. That motherfucker's name is Roronoa.

Coughing, he clenches his stomach, tender in the area he got punched. Bastard's got a mean hit. He anticipated taking a hard blow or two. That was part of the plan. Didn't expect to almost get choked to death but c'est la vie.

Footsteps thud above. Must be morning. More than anything, except maybe a hot shower, he wishes he had a clock. Some way to track the time he wastes lying on this crummy mattress. Could be doing a thousand things right now but he's stuck down here, wondering when his purpose will be served.

Mind wandering back to the restaurant, he worries about Zeff's place. Old man left Sanji in charge - Patty and Carne don't know what the hell they're doing. They might know what the place meant to Zeff but they don't know how to run it correctly. Are they looking for him? Are they concerned?

The Roronoa guy seems like an awful murderer, he hasn't succeeded at a single attempt at taking Sanji's life. Here's to the small chance he fucked up in some other way and Sanji will be found. It's his only hope; he can't conceivably power himself out of this.

Swing. Tap, tap, tap. The "descent" begins; that's what Sanji calls this series of noises. Pretty soon the door will unlock and push open. Moments later, as predicted, the bastard turns the lights on, relieving Sanji of his entrapment in the dark.

Not bothering to even look up, Sanji continues staring at the grey wall. Grey, black, doesn't matter. It's all the same. By now, he has every nook and cranny of this goddamn cellar memorized.

Feeling something plop onto the foot of his mattress, Sanji turns his head slightly towards his feet, curiosity getting to the best of him. A banana and a container of yogurt. Finally, authentic food.

Sitting up, he scoots to the edge of the bed and grabs his meal, happy to have real nutrients. It's Greek yogurt too, which means he gets some protein. Pulling off the top to his yogurt, he spots a plastic spoon that was dropped with the food and digs in. After last night's sad excuse for dinner, it feels like heaven on his tongue.

Green Bastard – Roronoa – stands at the workbench shuffling through papers, back turned to Sanji. Sanji savors his yogurt, noticing the man is dressed nicer than he's seen him before, charcoal dress pants and a white and grey pinstripe shirt. Sanji looks down at his own dirty pants, tinge of jealousy that the bastard gets to wear clean clothes.

Any inklings of jealousy are quickly dismissed when the man turns around sporting two black eyes and a swollen nose. Sanji wants to laugh but knows that would be a death sentence, settling with concentrating on his banana. Still, the corners of his mouth turn up in triumph. He may be stuck down here but that broken nose is evidence of his rebellion, evidence the world will have to see.

Seeming annoyed, Roronoa grabs a plastic grocery sack he has waiting on the counter before walking closer to Sanji, bag outreached.

"Trash."

Sanji tosses his banana peel, empty yogurt container, and plastic spoon into the bag. Locating the empty chip bag and water bottle from the night before, he tosses those in too. Green Bastard's eyes are on his neck, studying him. Must be true about the bruising. Moving to the edge of the mattress, he assumes it's time for the next part of their morning routine: the bathroom. Surprisingly, the man tosses the bag of trash aside and walks over to the hose on the wall, pulling a rag out of his pocket and wetting it.

Returning, he crouches in front of Sanji, wet cloth in hand. Sanji's unsure how to react, suspicious of the man's intentions. Swiftly, Green Bastard gives Sanji's face a good wipe, trying to remove as much dirt, blood, and grime as possible. His motions are rough, scratching hard on his skin. Cold, businesslike. But still, Sanji's glad to have the mess cleaned up.

Twenty minutes later, Sanji's full morning routine is completed and he's back in his bunk, lying down, facing the wall again. No words spoken between the two, the Green Bastard leaves him alone to go do whatever the hell he does all day. His skin tingles, still able to feel the force of the man's hand wiping his face.

* * *

Zoro grimaces at his reflection in his rearview mirror. The swelling went down enough to remove the tape but he has two black eyes. Mihawk's going to be pissed. Digging through his glove compartment, he locates a pair of sunglasses. Placing them gently on his nose, he's pleased to find they cover his bruising completely.

Climbing out of his Honda, he locks up and trudges across the parking lot, bag slung over his shoulder. Despite the ache in his nose, he keeps his head down, not wanting to draw too much attention to his face. His entrance in the building goes unnoticed; security busy with the bustling visitor area. Quietly he flashes his badge in front of the access scanner, hearing the beep of approval and the door unlatch.

Making his way down the hall to the back elevators, he stops dead in his tracks, spotting Mihawk himself coming out of the men's restroom, briefcase in hand. Fuck. There's no way the man didn't spot him. Zoro casually picks back up his pace, meeting him in front of the elevator doors.

They wait in silence as the light softly dings, signaling the arrival of the elevator. Zoro steps aside for Mihawk to enter first and then follows suit, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, staring straight ahead. Mihawk selects the fourth floor and their ascension begins.

"Roronoa."

Zoro continues staring straight ahead, only nodding slightly to indicate he heard his Sergeant.

"Take those blasted things off right now, you buffoon."

Sighing, Zoro reaches up and tears off the sunglasses, allowing Mihawk to view in full horror the state of his face.

Mihawk inhales sharply, his piercing eyes inspecting Zoro's broken nose incredulously. The elevator door opens at their stop but neither man moves, tension thick around them. Finally, the Sergeant clicks his tongue and shakes his head, walking off the elevator towards his office. Zoro steps out into the hall and winces, the slam of Mihawk's office door echoing across the laminate floor. Honestly, it went better than expected.

Entering his own office, Zoro's not surprised to see Law already at his desk. The man has no life. He's sipping coffee out of his red thermos, reading notes on his computer.

Zoro mutters hello and sets his bag down. Law spins around in his chair but stops abruptly as he catches sight of Zoro's face. This song and dance again.

"Not even going to ask," Law grumbles, turning back to his computer.

"Good," Zoro responds, digging his own laptop out of his bag and setting it up on his desk.

Mihawk walks into their office, eyeglasses sitting on the tip of his nose, looking over a case file in hand. "All right, Trafalgar, you're with me," he delivers a sharp look to Zoro, "Don't get comfortable. Go seek medical treatment, and psychiatric while you're at it."

"What the fuck, Mihawk?" Zoro rumbles, slamming his computer closed.

"You have the audacity to come to my office looking like you just got out of a bar fight and then dare question my orders?" Mihawk barks out, intensely glaring at Zoro.

Zoro crosses his arms and glances at Law, who is still staring at his computer screen, obviously not wanting to get involved.

"Doctor's note required. I will not have you compromising our work with your stupidity. With your face like that, how am I to trust you don't have a concussion or worse?"

"Fine," Zoro concedes, shoving his laptop back into his bag and shouldering it irritably.

Minutes later, he's whipping out of the parking lot, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. Fucking prick.

Cell phone in hand, he locates Chopper's number and calls, trying to keep his eyes on the traffic. Hopefully the kid isn't in class.

"Hello?"

"Need a doctor's note."

"I'm not a doctor!"

Zoro huffs, aggravated at the situation, "Need it for work."

"Have you ever thought about going to an actual doctor?"

"That's why I'm coming to you," Zoro smiles, squinting at the street signs. He thinks he needs to take a left at the next turn. Or maybe the one after. "You at home?"

Silence, followed by a small sigh, "Yeah, I'm home. Come on by."

Zoro ends the call and sets his phone in his cup holder, switching on his left blinker and turning down the next street, relieved to find he picked the correct one. Few miles up and he spots the entrance to the neighborhood, familiarity taking over his sense of direction. Right, left, left once more and he's pulled into the driveway of an expansive colonial home.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, he makes his way to the front door, rapping twice on the sturdy wood. A faint voice beckons him in and he lets himself inside, greeted in the foyer by an array of potted flowers.

Zoro's always found Robin's home a bit odd, kind of like her. Old, antiquated, but different from his country house. Outside it's pristine, white, and colonial. Inside updated, modernized, and yet still warm, inviting. Overstuffed with flowers and bookcases, almost every wall is covered in decadent paintings, maps, and sculptures. Mismatched, reflective of the shockingly different personalities that reside there. Steampunk models, framed blueprints of massive ships, an array of Coca-cola collectibles weave through the barrage of foliage, history, and classicism.

"Oh my."

Zoro looks towards the kitchen to find Robin leaning against the doorway, glass of iced tea in hand. He'd forgotten she recently cut her hair, her bangs reminiscent of when they first met. She's smiling her peculiar smile, eyes admiring his face.

"The doctor will be unhappy."

Zoro shrugs and makes his way towards the kitchen. Robin's house is like a second home; so much time is spent hanging out at her place. Especially in the summer, her large pool in the back an inviting feature. Zoro suspects she picked a pool home with Luffy and Chopper in mind, although Franky seems to enjoy it too. After Memorial Day, he spends most of his free time out on the deck in a Speedo.

Brushing past Robin, he opens a cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with tap water.

"There's bottles in the fridge," she offers, sitting down at her table where stacks of papers wait. An archeology professor at the local college, she always seems to be surrounded with papers and books. Early twenties spent active in the field, she began teaching a couple years back.

"This is fine," he replies, gulping down his drink and rinsing out the glass. "Where's Chopper?"

"His room, I believe."

Zoro nods, leaving her behind in the kitchen and jogging up the stairs, taking two at a time. Chopper stays with Robin and Franky while he's in medical school. Former roommate of Luffy and Usopp, he complained they were just too wild to handle during finals. That's when Robin offered him room and board, free of charge. She's got a soft spot for the little guy. Four-bedroom house and no children, they have plenty of space. Zoro's glad she's taken Chopper under her wing, the kid has no parents, just his ancient grandmother, who has her hands full at her low-income clinic.

Down the hall, door's open, Zoro peeks his head inside. Situated at a wood desk is Chopper, books piled high all around him. Short and thin, standing at about 5'4'', he's endlessly teased and coddled for his small stature. Zoro's never once been to a bar where they didn't have to wait at least twenty minutes for the bouncer to scrutinize every detail of the kid's license, complete disbelief that he's twenty-two.

All these years that they've known each other, their bond has deepened, even more familial than the ones he shares with Usopp or Nami. Chopper's like a little brother, someone he mentors and protects. Hard work is how Zoro's gotten to where he is today, in life and his career. No college education, he barely made it through high school. Constantly working to prove himself to those around him. Not Chopper. He's got brains, book smarts, and goddamn he'll be successful. Zoro's personally invested in it, to such a degree that he pays for part of Chopper's tuition.

"Hey there."

Chopper turns his head to greet him but the smile on his face is quickly replaced with look of shock and concern. Flying out of his seat, he grabs Zoro's arm and tugs him to the desk chair, Zoro allowing himself to be dragged across the room.

"Broken nose? Concussion? Neck injury? How did this happen? Car accident? Bar fight? Zoro, you better not have gotten into another fight…" Chopper starts panicking, a trait he's going to have to grow out of if he plans to be a pediatrician.

"Calm down. Blacked out drunk last night, dunno what happened."

Using the large bottle of hand sanitizer he has sitting on the desk, Chopper wipes down before he starts feeling Zoro's nose, his touch gentle but still causing the older man to flinch.

"Feels like a typical nasal fracture," Chopper concludes, pulling his hands away, "Trauma from below. Did you fall over and hit your face on anything? "

Zoro shrugs, "So can you give me a doctor's note? Mihawk's being a dick."

"You're lucky it isn't healing crooked, that could cause a deviated septum. Which means surgery," Chopper chides, reaching into the desk drawer and pulling out a small stack of doctor's notes he'd pilfered from his grandmother's clinic. They've had this deal for years; Chopper supplies notes as long as Zoro promises he goes to the E.R. when deemed necessary. Forgery at its finest.

"Thanks," Zoro accepts the paper, grateful to have something to give to his piece of shit boss.

Speak of the devil, his phone rings, probably Mihawk. Standing, he plucks his phone out of his pocket and checks the name on the screen. It's the other piece of shit.

"What?" he answers.

"Are you done with Tony? Need you back here," Law asks dryly, completely aware of Zoro's relationship with Chopper.

Beeping in his ear, Zoro looks at his phone and sees he has an incoming call. Mihawk.

"The hawk is calling," Zoro tells Law, using the office nickname for the Sergeant. Ending Law's call, he answers, "What?"

"Don't 'what' me, Roronoa. Have my note yet?"

"Yeah, got it right here." Zoro waves goodbye at Chopper, trudging down the hall to the stairs.

"Good. Come back to the office, we have things to discuss."

Mihawk hangs up on him before Zoro has the pleasure of doing the same.

Walking by the kitchen, Zoro pokes his head in, Robin still seated at the table grading papers. She smiles farewell before returning to her work. Zoro makes his way to the car, wondering what could be so important that both Law and Mihawk called him to return.

Back at the precinct, Zoro's surprised to discover his and Law's office empty. Moving a couple doors down, he glances in the entryway of Mihawk's office and finds Law seated in one of the chairs in front of the man's large desk.

Mihawk extends his hand out, snapping his fingers, beckoning him to pass over his doctor's note. Grumbling, Zoro digs the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and places it in the outstretched hand. After a quick glance, Mihawk seems satisfied with its contents, opening a desk drawer and tucking it away. With swift motion, he gestures for Zoro to take a seat in the chair next to Law.

Wordlessly, Zoro takes a seat, raising an eyebrow at Law, who looks irritated, his long legs crossed in front of him, foot swinging haphazardly. Then again, he always looks like that.

"I've volunteered you both to go assist on a case in Drum Municipality."

Zoro blinks. He knows the name. As a matter of fact, it's close to where Chopper's from, out in the Adirondacks.

"I don't expect you to be gone for more than a few days," Mihawk continues, "Should be an easy case, the local Sherriff's office just needs our expertise."

"When do we leave?" Zoro inquires, mind already sorting what he has to take care of at home. He has to figure something out with Sanji.

"I want you there by tomorrow morning."

Shit. That's cutting it close. Glancing at the wall clock, it's already after noon. If he had to guess, they're in for a four-hour drive and Law probably will want to get there before too late.

For some strange reason, Law is tense, his foot still swinging and his head lowered. There must be something he knows about the case that Zoro isn't aware of.

Mihawk notices this too and rolls his eyes, "Onto the smaller details, the Drum PD is willing to foot the bill for gas, a food per diem, and the hotel room. One hotel room."

Law cracks, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his chair. "I'm not sharing a room."

Zoro agrees with the sentiment. Going out of town for work is already annoying but having to live in the same hotel room as Law would make it damn near intolerable.

"Calm down, you insufferable twat. Lieutenant Smoker is willing to pay for a second hotel room."

Tension melts from Law's stance; he looks so relieved that he doesn't even respond to Mihawk's insult. Jokes on him, Zoro would have paid for his own hotel room to get away from staying with that guy.

Mihawk hands each of them a case file, droning on about the specifics of their investigation. Zoro half listens, knowing that whatever Mihawk is saying is written down in the notes and can be read later. Keeping an eye on the clock, he mentally starts a checklist of everything he needs to do at home.

* * *

Sanji's awakened by creaking noises, blinking his eyes blearily at the Green Bastard as he walks through the door. It's strange - it doesn't feel like enough time has passed for him to be home. Usually Sanji gets two check-ins a day, morning and night. This feels midday. Even stranger, the man is hauling bags of stuff, a case of water, and oddly, a bucket.

The man leaves the door open and to Sanji's surprise, a cat peeks its head around the door, rubbing against it as it walks in. Black and white, too big to be a kitten and too small to be full-grown. It's surreal to be in the presence of another living creature besides the Green Bastard.

"Oni, what are you doin'?" Roronoa asks the cat, softness in his voice that's not been expressed before. Bending over, he pats the cat's head lightly, tender look on his face.

Sanji's honestly baffled, his demented captor, the Green Bastard, the murderous psychopath is fucking petting and talking to the cat like a gentle giant. And she loves it, rubbing against his legs, her purrs audible all the way where Sanji's sitting. Even from where he sits, Sanji can tell by the petite frame and anatomy that it's a girl.

Oni – or at least that's what Sanji thinks he heard - hops up from the floor to the workbench counter, where the man is unloading bags, food scattered across the counter like he's taking inventory.

Green Bastard hauls over the case of water, dropping it down at the foot of Sanji's bed. The bucket goes next to it. The cat jumps off the counter and follows the man across the room, stopping at the edge of Sanji's bed and tentatively sniffing the mattress. Sanji reaches his fingers out towards her but she turns away, chasing after Green Bastard as he gathers the food. The man gently scoots her out of the room with his foot and closes the door, apparently done with her distractions.

Sanji sits back, his disbelief unnoticed by Roronoa as he piles food against the wall by the head of Sanji's mattress. Sanji surveys the stack of provisions, nonperishable with the exception of some apples and bananas. Crackers, chips, nuts, peanut butter, granola. It's enough to last him a few days, a week tops. Between the food, the water, and the bucket, he can assume that the bastard's not going to be down for a while.

"You're going away."

Green Bastard ignores him, opting instead to return to the workbench and collect the bags he used to haul the food in. Sanji lies down, turning his back to the room, and closes his eyes. Sleep is the only thing he has to do. He hears the man unlock a drawer and search through it, shuffling through some papers before closing it again. Moments later, the door's slammed and locked, the sounds of his footsteps ascending, leaving Sanji completely alone once more.

Upstairs, Zoro finishes packing his duffle and workbag. Buried deep in the folds of his clothes are two case files, exact replicas of the originals housed back at the station. One for Crocodile, the other labeled Sanji Black. Time away means getting work done.

Oni lies on the bed, giving him grief for having to leave her. Cats always seem to know. Astute. Something Zoro appreciates. Reaching over, he tickles her chin apologetically, a small nip at his fingers indicating she's not quite ready to forgive him yet.

Bottomless food and water dispensers' set up in the kitchen, Zoro's got everything prepared for Oni. No one else has a key to his house but she'll be fine until he's returned. Bags slung over shoulder, he exits his home, making sure to lock the door before heading to his car.

Luggage shoved in the back, Zoro starts the engine and reverses out of the driveway, turning towards the city to pick up Law. They should be able to make it to the highway before rush hour traffic.

Half an hour or so and Zoro's parked in front of Law's apartment complex. He walks up two flights of stairs to the man's third floor unit and knocks. Door opens, Law already turned back to the space, leaving Zoro in the entryway. Entering, Zoro glances around, stacks of boxes full of case files, paperwork, and books are the only clutter in the empty space. A table with two chairs in the kitchen, a sofa in the living room, small TV. Following Law to the bedroom, he watches as the man pulls a jacket out of the closet and folds it neatly into his suitcase. Mattress on the floor, small dresser, and more piles of papers. Textbook definition of workaholic.

Zoro rattles the keys in his shorts pocket, having changed into something comfortable for their drive. Law's done the same, jeans and a black t-shirt, tattoos on full display, an uncommon occurrence for him since he's usually in work clothes. A white and black knit cap is on his head, fucking stupid considering it's June.

Law zips up his suitcase, nodding towards the door. Zoro walks to the living room, Law trailing behind, stopping to pick up his workbag from his table. Lights off and door locked, they're on their way down the stairs to Zoro's SUV. Bags loaded in the back, they climb in, Law immediately snatching Zoro's GPS to tap in the address.

"This," he says with a smirk, holding up the small gadget, "is the only reason I agreed to ride with you."

"Shut up," Zoro grumbles, leaving the apartment's parking lot and turning onto the main road.

"Should've went left," Law chastises.

"Not my fault. Streets don't make sense downtown."

Law hums in response, staring out the window as Zoro manages to u-turn and head in the correct direction. They drive in amicable silence, quickly making their way out of the city and onto the open road. The GPS reads a little under four hours until they reach their destination.

"What happened to your face?" Law breaks their peace.

"Dunno," Zoro shifts in his seat, only keeping his left hand on the wheel, right elbow leaning on the center console. "Too drunk to remember."

"You did drink a lot," Law agrees, "but what kind of idiot breaks their own nose while drunk?"

"Drunken stumbling is a thing. At least I didn't puke in the bushes."

"Must've ordered me a double when you went to the bar," Law accuses, crossing his arms.

"Probably was the Coke Zero. Shit's nasty, full of chemicals."

Law shrugs, ignoring the comment. "Can't believe he thought you'd get along with that freak."

Zoro smirks, giving Law a sidelong glance. Arms crossed, staring out the window, Zoro can tell he's still irritated by the night before. Doesn't surprise him, the guy's pretty good at holding grudges.

"Wasn't Luffy's fault, although he is a moron," Zoro comments, keeping focused straight ahead. There's no response so he continues, "Can't tell me you weren't proud of yourself for that little stunt."

This earns a small snort, "Really scared that guy off, huh?"

"He probably thought he was next. Would scare me off, too."

Law chuckles, "Heard Nami talking about some friend of hers. Keep your ears open for more dinner invitations."

Zoro groans, lifting his right hand to rub his scarred eye, "They should stop."

"Your friends are an odd bunch," Law states as if he's not friends with them all as well, "but they're good people."

Zoro nods, aware how weighty that comment is coming from Law. Mihawk warned him when he joined on as a detective that Law came from a hard background - gangs, betrayal, violence. He's noticed time and time again it's hard for the other man to connect with people. When he got close with Luffy, Zoro was happy for him, knowing firsthand the positive influence Luffy has on those around him.

Reaching over, Zoro turns on the radio, fumbling through the stations. Law pulls out his phone, tapping away on the screen. Content with what he's found, Zoro sits back and re-focuses on driving.

"Why do we have to listen to this old shit?" Law complains, still staring down at his phone.

"My car, my music."

Most of the ride is spent without conversation, only the radio and the periodic directions from the GPS filling the air. By the time they reach the small town of Drum Municipality, it's dark out and Zoro's stomach is growling.

Spotting a Subway sign in the distance, he turns to Law and jokes, "Wanna get sandwiches?"

Law lifts his head from his phone, face scrunched in disgust, "Fuck you."

Zoro laughs as they drive by the sub place, Law hitting him in the shoulder.

The hotel isn't hard to find, there's only a handful in the area. Parking in a spot out front, Zoro's glad to get out of the car and stretch. Gathering their luggage from the back, they walk into the hotel lobby, greeted by a bored-looking girl behind the counter.

Without lifting her head from the book lying on the counter, she asks, "Name?"

"Law Trafalgar."

Heavy sigh, she closes her book and looks at him expectantly.

"T-R-A-F-A-L-G-A-R."

"And your first?"

"Law. Like _Law & Order_. L-A-W."

Zoro raises an eyebrow at this. Typing into the computer, the girl finds his reservation, handing him a room key. Zoro hands her his driver's license to expedite the process. Swiftly checked in, they're debriefed about the hotel's free continental breakfast and haphazardly pointed in the direction of the elevators.

Muttering thanks, they make their way down the hall, both ignoring the elevators for the stairs. On the second floor they easily find their rooms, right across the hall from each other. Law says goodnight, assuring Zoro he's not hungry, before entering his hotel room, immediately pausing in the doorway to put the Do Not Disturb sign on his door.

Zoro shakes his head and enters his own room, flipping on the switch to fill the space with dim light. Everything is a burnt orange, the blankets, the curtains, the carpet. Small double bed, dresser, TV, and a desk – every hotel room is the same. Chucking his bags onto the bed, he pulls back the curtains, glancing out the window to see if he can find a corner store nearby. Spotting a small gas station within walking distance, he tucks his room key into his wallet and makes his way out into the night.

Twenty minutes later, he's back in his room, six-pack of beer and a bag of snacks in hand. Pouring out his bags, he locates his laptop and the two case files he'd hidden, setting them out on the desk. Beer opened, piece of jerky in mouth, he boots up his computer, fingers tapping on his case files as it loads. Looking between the two manila folders, he mentally debates which one to pick up first.

Tracing his thumb along the edge of the file, Zoro opens the front cover, crime scene photos right on top. Pushing those aside, he locates what he needed, a thin disk. Opening his computer drive, he slides the disk out of its case and places it in the drive, pushing it closed. Whirring sounds come from the computer before his video viewer pops up, play button ready to be pushed. Click of the mouse and the image comes to life.

Nighttime, apartment parking lot, not much activity. No cars bustling, no people walking, just lights glowing in the black and white exposure. A man appears, gangly, thin. Dark clothes, light hair, hands in pockets, shoulders shrugged. Turning towards the building, he disappears into the shadows. Fast-forwarding the video, Zoro returns to normal feedback after an hour passes on the recording. Same shrug, same walk, same man reappears from the building, stopping on the sidewalk to pull a cigarette out of his pocket. Two flicks, its lit. Raising his head to exhale, Sanji Black's grainy image completely visible, cloud of smoke trailing behind as he walks out of frame.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks everyone for the support/feedback on this fic so far. I really appreciate (and try to respond to) every review. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Eight days.

Sanji looks over the piles he's built around him, small mounds of food expertly planned for each meal. If he eats two meals a day, he has enough food for eight days. Thankfully the Green Bastard left the light on, he's able to see everything around him and keep organized. Tweaking slightly, Sanji swaps some granola on day three for some crackers scheduled for day seven. Each meal must be balanced, well thought out. No clue when he might get food again. The water is organized to last longer, given he was provided a full case of twenty-four bottles. Water is a little more precious anyway. Suffering comes quicker without water.

Bananas and apples are slotted earlier in his week. Since they're perishable, he wants to make sure to eat them at optimum freshness. Granola and peanut butter are to be eaten in the mornings, to give his body fiber and protein for the day. Crackers, nuts, and chips are his evening meals. At least the Green Bastard had the sense to give him almonds and pistachios, both vitamin rich. Looking over his spread, he's actually surprised at the amount of healthy food he received, besides the damned potato chips. Now if only he could get his hands on a hot meal.

Picking up a water bottle, he tears at the paper wrapper and tosses it on the floor at the foot of his bed, using this area as a makeshift trash can. He's designated this bottle as non-drinkable, only to be used with cleaning up. One of the blankets he was given has a frayed corner that he's been ripping at since he's been down here. The seams are sufficiently tattered; he doesn't have to use much force to remove a strip of fabric. Dunking the cloth into the water, he wets it before carefully recapping the bottle and bringing the material to his mouth. Opening wide, he uses the cloth as a crude toothbrush, scrubbing each tooth and his tongue to try to make himself feel even the slightest bit cleaner. More human. Outcome better than expected, he tosses the dirty cloth aside and uses one of the bare threads as dental floss, trying to reach every ounce of plaque.

Done with his teeth, he rips and wets another piece of material and uses it as a rag, wiping as much of his face he can reach. Almost completely used to the handcuffs, he has little issue moving his arms in unison to stretch as far as possible. Forcing his mind to be blank, he focuses only on his task. Plenty of time to think later. Always a multitasker, he's trying to rid himself of that habit in the cellar. There's no point in saving time here. Spanning activities as long as possible fills the gaps between sleeping and eating.

Done with his cleaning, he sets the rag aside with the other trash and moves onto breakfast. Bundling his meal in his lap, he scoots so his back is against the cool wall, long legs extended in front of him, and stares at the large furnace across the room. Since day one, it has struck him as out of place. It looks newer than anything else in the cellar. The house is obviously old; the plumbing in the bathroom is early 20th century at best. But while still old, the furnace looks to be from a different era. Industrial.

Munching on his banana, he counts every bite before swallowing. Same with the granola and the peanut butter. Of course Green Bastard gave him a jar of peanut butter with no knife or spoon. Using a cracker, he digs out a scoop, finishing his breakfast. Couple sips of water to wash it down and his morning activities are over.

Cosette.

Sanji runs his hands through the fringe of his hair, shaking his head slightly. The picture Roronoa showed him has imprinted on his memory. He sees it when he sleeps. What happened to Cosette?

Sanji barely knew her; she had asked him for a job at the restaurant before she went missing. She seemed bright, eager to learn, although her resume had no experience listed. Wanting to get to know her more informally to try to figure out if she was a good fit for the restaurant, Sanji invited her for coffee. It was enjoyable - she spoke passionately. A home chef, someone who was enthusiastic about food and really wanting to get her foot in the door of the industry. They'd parted ways agreeing she would come to work at the restaurant as a line cook to learn the ropes. She was to start the following day.

She never showed up.

Sanji swallows hard, now knowing that was because she was killed. He called her that evening to probe why she hadn't come in to work but there was no answer. Few days later police stopped by - not Roronoa, other cops asking if he knew her and what their relationship was. He told the truth, making sure they had every detail of the interview in case it helped in finding her. Never heard a word after, from the police or from her.

Now he's chained to this fucking wall being accused of murdering a girl he hardly knew. Shit doesn't make sense.

Sanji leans the back of his head against the wall and glances up at the ceiling, briefly wondering if the cat is doing okay since the Green Bastard is gone. Considering he was never cuffed behind his back or gagged, Sanji has to assume that the man doesn't plan on having anyone check in on his house while he's gone. Maybe he took the cat with him.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Sanji tries to imagine the feel and taste of a cigarette. Experts say that supposedly after three days without smoking you can consider yourself "cured" of nicotine addiction. What a load of shit. He may not be the murderer he's accused of being but right now he'd kill for a cigarette.

Fiddling with his handcuffs absent-mindedly, Sanji allows his thoughts to wander to the Green Bastard. Who is he? What does he want? Counting on his fingers, he mentally names every fact he knows about his captor. Name's Roronoa. Green hair. Shitty killer. Has a cat. Seems to leave the house early in the morning and doesn't come home until late at night. Cop. He's eaten at Baratie.

It was right before lunch rush, the restaurant still quiet but preparing for the masses of business suits, students, and families coming to enjoy a quick bite to eat. Sanji was out in the bar taking inventory, trusting Patty and Carne to prep the kitchen. The tables were mostly empty; Baratie doesn't get busy until afternoon. Maybe one or two parties were spread out across the booths. Completely uneventful, a typical day. Until a man with green hair walked in.

Moseying up to the bar, he placed a to-go order with the bartender – can't remember who - before taking a seat on one of the stools to wait. His bartender disappeared to give the order to the kitchen. Sanji continued taking inventory but was soon beckoned by the patron.

"Bartender, shot of whiskey."

Sanji's eyebrows shot up as he checked his watch, not even noon yet. Turning on his heel, he made eye contact with the man. Scarred eye, he remembers now. "Little early, don't ya think?"

Chuckling, the man checked his phone, probably to look at the time. "Not for me," he said with a smile, "Jack is fine."

"Not the bartender," Sanji advised him, grabbing a shot glass and the nearest bottle of Jack Daniels, "Just taking inventory."

Sanji remembers in this moment seeing some kind of badge around the guy's neck but try as he might, he can't recall a name. Closing his eyes, he gently taps his head against the cellar wall, willing himself to make the fuzzy image in his mind as clear as possible. Concentrating hard, he focuses on every aspect of Roronoa. The green hair, the cocky smile, white button up shirt, tan skin, broad shoulders, but that fucking badge eludes him. Opening his eyes again, brow furrowed, he wonders why he knew the man is a cop if he can't remember that badge.

Sighing, he stares straight forward, replaying the memory once more.

"Just taking inventory."

The man shrugged and pulled out his wallet, placing a ten on the bar. Sanji poured the drink and set it in front of him, picking up his payment and cashing out the tab. He left the tip on the register for the real bartender.

Silence between them, the man took his shot and waited for his food. Sanji returned to his clipboard and thought nothing of the exchange until the food was delivered and he stood up, plastic to-go bag in hand.

"Back to work," he muttered to himself as he stretched, catching Sanji's attention.

"Hope you don't have an important job, drinking on lunch like that," Sanji joked, watching the man pluck his keys out of his pocket.

"Not too important," Roronoa answered, grin on his face, "just serving and protecting."

* * *

Loud snoring stirs him, his subconscious faintly realizing that the snores are his own. Head turning, bringing up a hand to wipe drool off of his chin, Zoro awakens from his slumber. Vision blurry, he blinks at the small clock on the table by the bed, red numbers telling him it's a little after six. Papers strewn across the mattress around him, he fell asleep reading about Crocodile. Sitting up, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and yawns loudly, swinging his legs to the edge of the bed.

Sitting for a moment as he wakes up he cracks his neck loudly and scratches his bare back. Glancing over his shoulder, he decides it's best to put those papers away. Standing, he moves around the bed and collects the documents, stuffing them back into their file and tucking it into his duffle bag.

Grabbing his shorts off the ground, he pulls them up carelessly, leaving them hanging low on his hips. Doesn't matter, going to shower anyway. Stretching as he walks, he pockets his key card before leaving his room. Crossing the few feet of hallway between his door and Law's, he pauses before he knocks, hearing the sounds of the television from inside.

Two hard knocks. Law opens the door, hood of his jacket pulled over his messy hair. Deep bags under his eyes, cup of coffee in hand. The room is dark except for the glow of the television, the opening theme of _Law & Order_ playing in the background. Law takes a sip of his coffee, staring at him impatiently.

"What do you want?"

Zoro shoulders past him and into the room, plopping onto the foot of Law's still made bed and laying across it. "Did you sleep last night?"

" _Law & Order: SVU _marathon was on," Law replies, refilling his cup.

Zoro takes that explanation as a no.

"Want some?" Law asks, nodding towards the coffee pot. "Brought it from home."

Of course he did. Zoro shakes his head, not much of a coffee drinker. "What's our itinerary?"

Zoro spots Law's eyes following his hand as he rubs the scar on his chest absent-mindedly. He's one of the few people who know the full story behind it, besides Luffy and Mihawk. Law's hoodie is unzipped, his large chest tattoo peeking out from under it. Always been interesting to Zoro, both of them heavily marked by their pasts.

"Hawk said Drum expects us around nine," Law finally answers, turning back to his television show. "I know this episode. The clown did it."

No words pass between them, Law sitting back on the bed and watching a few minutes of the show. Zoro closes his eyes and dozes a bit, late night keeping his head heavy with sleep.

"Your swelling's down."

Reaching up with his left hand, Zoro touches his nose tenderly. Law's right, the swelling's down. Still sore. The mattress shifts. Cold hand pushes his away, fingertips feeling the bridge of his nose lightly. Zoro puts his arm back at his side, allowing Law to examine his injury. Law's a medical school dropout. While he normally refuses to look at any of Zoro's injuries, the few occasions he's caved have proven he's just as good as Chopper. Soft hum and the hand is gone.

"Never ate a proper meal last night," Zoro yawns, the last part of his sentence trailing off. Sitting up, he twists to crack his back, earning a sideways glare from Law. "Let's go get some grub."

"Give me half an hour."

Back in his room, Zoro takes a fast shower, the small hotel bathroom filled with steam by the time he steps out. Draping his towel over his shoulders, he stands undressed in front of the sink and shaves the black stubble that's accumulated along his jaw. Through the mirror's fog he can see the discoloration around both his eyes, the bruising still vibrant and noticeable. Should start fading throughout the day.

Teeth brushed, deodorant applied, he takes a second to slick back his hair before ambling into the room. Duffle bag hoisted to the bed, he sifts through it to find boxer briefs, pants, and a button-down. Completely dressed, he locates a pair of black socks and his loafers. Bag packed and pockets filled, he's out the door.

Law's already made it to the hotel lobby before him, across the room lurking in the small eatery tucked in the corner. As Zoro approaches, he can tell by the look on the other man's face that there's no way they'll take advantage of the advertised breakfast. The guy can be such a bitch about food.

Spotting him enter, Law nods his head towards the front entrance, changing Zoro's course to walk out of the hotel. Catching up to him, Law explains, "Mostly toast and pastries."

"Didn't want any toast?" Zoro teases, unlocking his Honda and tossing his bag on the backseat.

"No chance," Law grumbles, climbing into the passenger seat. Once Zoro's situated behind the wheel, he continues, "Guy at the desk said there's a diner down the street."

Zoro nods and starts the engine. After a night of lukewarm beer and jerky, a hot meal sounds good. They take off from the parking lot, Zoro relying on Law's pointing to get them to their destination. A couple miles down the road they find the small diner. Local place. By the number of cars parked out front, must be a halfway decent stop, especially since it's only seven in the morning.

Walking in the door, they cause a few heads to turn, new faces to the locals and regulars of the establishment. A middle-aged woman motions them to an empty booth and they sit down, Law carefully rearranging the silverware placed at the edge of the table. Zoro glances around at the semi-full restaurant, catching a few people staring at them before returning to their meals. Law's oblivious, face buried in his cell phone. Most likely working already.

A young kid, no older than Chopper, appears tableside placing menus in front of them. His round eyes linger on Zoro's bruised face and scar, causing Zoro to knit his brow into a glare. Pulling a small pad out from his pocket, the server gulps and asks, "What can I get you to drink?"

"Diet Coke," Law responds, not looking up from his phone.

"Is Pepsi okay?" the kid retorts, causing Zoro to suppress a chuckle.

"No." Law finally lifts his head, glaring at the waiter.

The server laughs dryly, probably used to this kind of joke. Zoro knows Law isn't joking, though. He watches as the other man flips open the menu and locates the drink section, sighing as he confirms they only sell Pepsi products.

"Iced tea."

The waiter nods and turns to Zoro. "Same."

Promising to return soon, the server leaves to fetch their drinks. Zoro leans forward in his seat and looks over the menu, Law quietly doing the same. Their drinks arrive momentarily and they both order their breakfast, left alone once again to wait. Law returns to tapping away on his screen while Zoro continues looking around the restaurant, observing it more. Even though Drum Municipality has a decent size population, it still has a small town feel. The people seem familiar with each other, jovially interacting, patrons and staff alike. Wooden panels, overstuffed booths, plaid plastic table cloths. Standard local diner.

A bell over the door jingles and Zoro spots a large man entering the restaurant, dark-haired and as big as an ox. Studying his clothing, he appears to be an officer of some kind, given the khaki uniform. Zoro squints, thinking he might spy a sheriff's badge on the man's chest. At that moment, the man makes eye contact with him and smiles, starting towards their booth. Swiftly, Zoro kicks Law under the table, receiving a glare until Law notices the hulking figure approaching quickly.

"Not from around here are ya?" the man asks, arriving at the side of their table. Sheriff's badge in plain sight. "You boys from Waterton, by chance?"

"We are," Law answers coolly, looking the man up and down. He's taken aback when a large hand is shoved at him, grasping it hesitantly in his slender grip.

"Sheriff Dalton," the man introduces himself, letting go of Law's hand and reaching for Zoro's.

Zoro shakes it firmly, "Zoro Roronoa and Law Trafalgar."

"Nice to meet you," Dalton grins, releasing his hold, "We really appreciate you taking time to come help us out."

"No trouble," Law replies smoothly.

"Picked a good time of year to come up and visit, weather's real nice."

Zoro grimaces into his tea as he takes a sip. Fucking small talk.

"Glad you found a good place to eat, you'll need your energy," Dalton continues as he checks a silver watch on his wrist. "Listen, I'll leave you boys alone to enjoy your breakfast in peace. We'll talk at the station."

They nod goodbye to Dalton, Zoro watching his hulking frame cross to the opposite side of the restaurant and slide into a booth.

"Big guy," Zoro comments offhandedly, Law agreeing with a mumble.

Their food arrives, smelling heavenly and steaming hot. Digging in, Zoro sighs contentedly with the first bite. Been awhile since he had a good, hot meal. They eat in silence, the only interruption coming from their waiter refilling their drinks and laying the check on the table. Once the plates are clear and their bellies full, Zoro leans back in his seat and picks up the tab.

"I'll get it," Law tells him, reaching to grab the slip but Zoro moves out of range.

"It's fine, I got it," Zoro tells him, already tugging his wallet out of his back pocket.

Leaving a few bills on the table, they stand and head out to the car. The air is warming up, June coming full force this year. Even in the mountainous area of the Adirondacks, Zoro feels sweat starting under his collar.

"Wait a sec."

The two men turn, a voice coming from behind them. Out of the restaurant doors appears Dalton, steaming coffee in hand. Catching up to them, he takes a sip from his cup before looking around, "Did Sergeant Mihawk fill you in on the case?"

Sharing a glance, Zoro and Law both nod.

Dalton's voice lowers to a hushed whisper, "Did he tell you we think it's our Mayor?"

Zoro's eye widens, eyebrow cocked. Mihawk didn't mention that part, only said Drum needed their expertise. Takes a lot of work for a government agency to take down an appointed office.

"Do you have proof?" Law inquires seriously, intensity radiating from his hazel eyes.

"Follow me to the station, I'll show you what I've got."

At the station, Zoro and Law are quickly shuffled through the process of getting temporary badges and accesses to the building. Dalton introduces them to his staff, pointing out key players in the investigation. An hour later, the trio is seated in Dalton's office, door closed and investigation notes in hand. Photographs litter his desk, images from the crime scene and shots of suspects, including one of a short, squat man. Mayor Wapol.

"Drum's a quiet place. Murder isn't something we regularly encounter," Dalton explains apologetically.

Zoro finishes rustling through the photos, reports, and notes of the pending investigation. Everything is clear and concise; he's not sure why he and Law need to be here. There's even forensics supporting Dalton's theory. Two deaths, both by gunshot. Bad alibis, a match between the bullets and a gun registered in the Mayor's name. Doesn't take a big team to figure out this one.

Law seems to notice the same. Face quizzical, he sets down the papers and crosses his arms, cocking his head to the side, "Why do you need us?"

"It's a sensitive investigation," Dalton starts, standing from his chair and pacing the room, "Lots to consider…"

It clicks.

"You need us because you can't accuse your own Mayor," Zoro states bluntly. He may not be a fan of office politics but he knows they exist. Shit like this always keeps one hand of the law tied behind it's back. Stepping on toes, media loops, statuses and titles. It all contributes to criminals scraping by, slipping through the cracks. Zoro's experienced his fair share of acquittals for these reasons. Unfortunately for those bastards, his special brand of justice doesn't care who you are or what your title is. Death comes to everyone.

"Precisely," Dalton sighs, continuing his pacing. "I ran for Mayor against Wapol last term. His team will spin this as some cheap shot against him, sway the town's opinion. I need outside guys to take a look at everything, make sure I'm not jaded, and lay down the hammer. Mihawk was debriefed on all of this."

Zoro rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the arm. It's a fucking waste of their time; any team at the office could have done this. Why did Mihawk have to choose him and Law? Still, he has to appreciate Dalton's effort. Better to use this tactic and ensure the mayor makes it behind bars instead of creating a conspiracy and risking justice.

"How quickly can you get this case before a judge?" Law questions.

"Tomorrow. Can get you home in less than a week if we start today." Dalton drops back into his chair, earnest expression written on his face.

Zoro makes eye contact with Law, nodding sharply. "Let's take that prick down."

* * *

Zoro sits at the dingy hotel desk, head resting in his hands. The arrest went well that afternoon - Wapol booked and locked up in the small holding cell at the station. True to his promise, Dalton got the case moved to court tomorrow. Zoro's sure the man knew that Wapol would have a defense attorney waiting to spring into action. Small towns are good for this kind of thing - their courts are quick. Less ugly. City courts can be dangerous, the large system makes for slow processing. Too much opportunity for vermin to escape.

Still, resolution can't come quick enough. Every day that Zoro's stuck in this town is another day Crocodile has a chance of fleeing away from the city. Zoro hopes that his arrogance is larger than his intelligence and he'll still remain in his cesspool of a home. Then matters can be taken into his own hands. Piece of shit has to pay.

Crocodile's case is spread before him, a photo of their key witness sitting right on top. She was one of Crocodile's victims, a survivor they found when raiding a warehouse the disappearances were tracked to. The jury listened to her tearful testimony of being brutally raped and beaten, yet they still let the bastard walk. Silently, he stares at the woman's bruised face and promises her he will get justice.

Next to him, his phone buzzes, Mihawk's name flashing on the screen. He closes the file before swiping to answer. "What?"

"Are you with Trafalgar?"

"He's in his room. Hey, why the fuck would you send us –"

"Go to Trafalgar. I need to talk to you both. Immediately."

Zoro senses something unsettling in Mihawk's tone. Sliding away from the desk, he swiftly exits his room and raps on Law's door. Takes a moment for Law to answer, standing only in flannel pajama pants. Must've been asleep. It's past midnight, after all.

"What?" he growls, crossing his arms.

"Mihawk's on the phone. Wants to talk to us both."

Law steps aside, allowing Zoro to enter the dark room. Sitting on the edge of Law's bed, he fumbles to find the speaker button. Something he still hasn't mastered.

"You're on speaker."

"Trafalgar?"

"Yes," Law replies, sitting next to Zoro so he can hear.

"Listen both of you. Crime scene tonight, one DB. Male. Electrocuted."

Zoro raises an eyebrow and looks at Law. Even in the darkness, he can tell the other man's face is muddled with confusion.

"Not an accident. Bound to a chair. An execution. Only thing left behind was a typed note, some form of code. Going through cryptanalysis now." Mihawk pauses for a second, tension building in the room. "I've assigned the case to you two. Need Roronoa back here by Saturday at the latest."

"We rode here together," Law retorts, Zoro gripping the phone tightly. The urgency in Mihawk's voice tells him one thing: the sergeant believes this killer will strike again. Soon.

"Find a way home. Rent a car, I don't care. If your case there lasts longer than Saturday, Roronoa comes back without you. That's an order. I'll do what I can here to try to speed things along."

"It's technically Thursday already," Law grumbles to himself, glancing towards the clock.

"I'm emailing you both a photo from the scene." With that, Mihawk hangs up.

Law stands up and switches on the light before sitting at the desk and turning on his computer. They wait silently for everything to load. Bringing up his work inbox, there's already an email waiting from Mihawk. Clicking the attachment, the seconds drag as the hotel's slow Internet loads the image. Gulping, Zoro rises from the bed and leans in close to the computer, his and Law's faces mere inches from the screen.

Roped to a chair is the body of a harshly scorched man, black splotches of burning flesh littering his neck and torso. Hair fried, it looks like he had some form of conduit placed on his head for the current to surge down his body. Face unrecognizable but mouth opened, as if he was pleading. Or screaming. A gruesome death, one of the worst ones they've seen.

Zoro stands as Law closes the screen of his laptop and swirls in his chair to face him. "Brutal, this one."

Zoro agrees. "Won't be a walk in the park."

"Let's hope Mihawk can get us out of here quick."

* * *

Sanji starts his nightly stretches, grasping his chained ankles with his bound hands and bending forward, holding the pose as long as possible. Up again, he stretches his arms high, fingertips brushing against the wall. Moving like this keeps him limber and his blood flowing so his body doesn't go numb. Also helps pass the time. Bend. Stretch. Repeat.

Saturday. It was a Saturday that he was abducted. The restaurant was busy - the special of the day was clam chowder. He knows that for sure. Which means the day he was chained to this fucking wall was Sunday. The next day would be Monday… Shit. He needs a way of keeping this straight.

Halting his stretching, he crawls to his garbage area and picks up an empty water bottle, tearing off the label and dropping it again. Blankets folded neatly against the wall (as neatly as the handcuffs allow), he uses his cleared bed as a map. Torn strip of paper represents Saturday. Another for Sunday, the day he was chained up.

Closing his eyes, he reaches the depths of his memory. That means it should've been Monday night when he broke Green Bastard's nose and almost was choked to death. The soreness in his throat finally dissipated but it had lingered a few days, a painful reminder every time he swallowed. So Tuesday was… Sanji taps his fingers against his thigh.

Tuesday was the day Green Bastard left. Sanji places another marker.

Wednesday was the day he divvied up his rations and created his meal plan. Shifting slightly, he reviews his piles of food, counting to determine how many days he's eaten, adding a scrap of paper for each one. Counting the markers, he realizes its Saturday again. It's been a whole week.

About half of his food is gone. Sticking true to his plans, he's even collected a little bit of extra provisions from each meal to create a ninth day. Just in case. At this rate, he has no idea when or if Green Bastard will be back. The man could be leaving him to die down here. Slow torture.

Shaking the thought out of his mind, Sanji scratches his chin, hard calluses feeling good against his itchy stubble. Starting to grow in thick since he hasn't been able to shave. The calluses will begin fading soon, the only activity he uses his hands for is to poke and prod the chains.

His clothes are dirty, grimy. Dark blood stains on the front of his blue button up from Roronoa's nose. If he had any way to uncuff his hands, he'd just take the damn thing off. Smells disgusting. His hair is greasy and unkempt, sticking up from his periodic tugging at the strands. The hose on the wall teases him. There's even a drain in the middle of the room. If he had any sort of freedom, he could wash himself off. At this point, he feels his body is even dirtier than the dank mattress he's been sleeping on.

A shower, a cigarette, a hot meal. Those are the things he needs the most right now.

Green Bastard has been on his mind for days. During Thursday's breakfast, Sanji decided that he would get answers from his captor once he's returned. But he must do it tactfully. Conversationally. Last time he outright demanded anything from the man he ended up on his back with two hands around his neck. He just has to figure out a way to make the bastard talk.

Sanji stands on the mattress and starts his next set, this time stretching over to touch his toes and extend his back, earning himself a satisfying crack. Pushing his palms against the mattress, he holds his position as long as possible, always keeping his feet close together. The chains around his ankles limit the smallest of tasks. Shitty chains. Shitty Roronoa. Shitty –

Thump.

Sanji's heart jumps and he freezes, cocking his head to listen. He thinks he heard something moving in the house. Standing slowly, he lifts his head as far as he can, straining to hear even the smallest of sounds. It was faint but prominent. Someone was up there. He remembers the cat and wonders briefly if maybe she had knocked something over…

Thump thump.

Footsteps. Unmistakable sound of footsteps. Is it Green Bastard? Sanji searches the ceiling, trying to determine the exact location. They're different from Roronoa's normal gait. The pace is off; whoever it is takes slower, more careful steps. Roronoa always walks with purpose. This person seems to be moving more slowly, cautiously. An intruder?

Is it someone who can help him?

"Hello?" Sanji tentatively calls out, his voice raspy from days of neglect. The thumping continues moving across the ceiling and Sanji shuffles to the end of his mattress along with it, eyebrow cocked and ears perked for every little vibration. Quiet for a moment and then a heavy thud, followed by more thumps. Similar to the descent – the sounds Roronoa makes when he's coming to the basement. Has someone found him?

"Is someone there?" Sanji yells out urgently, clenching his hands into fists and staring a hole into the large door. Please let it be somebody that can help him, anyone that can get him out of this fucking cellar. He has no idea how hidden he is, what it looks like above him. Maybe, just maybe, somebody has realized he's been locked away down here.

Rustling outside the door. Sanji's breath hitches, heart pounding deep in his chest, chains pulled as far as they reach towards the door. Locks twist and turn, latches unhinging and the heavy door is swung open, a moment's hesitation before a hulking figure enters the room hauling a massive black bag.

Face obscured with the bag hoisted over shoulder, Sanji starts with the bottom up, noticing black work boots and black jeans. Eyes rise to a thin white t-shirt, thick bicep wrapped around the haul. The man's burden is lowered from his shoulder and laid on the ground, allowing Sanji to finally see the intruder's face. He spots Roronoa's scarred eye, slightly hidden by a black bandana that also covers his green hair.

Green Bastard takes a knee and looms over his package, Sanji gulping at the possibility of what could be inside. It's bulky and from the man's chest heaving and sweat-dripping face, must be heavy. Is it a tool of some sort, a weapon, something that will be used against him? Sanji's eyes widen as he watches the man's tan hand locate a zipper and reveal what's hidden inside the bag.

Black fabric frames the ashen face of a dark-haired man, eyes closed, unconscious. Sanji subconsciously takes a step closer, his taught chain rattling, causing Green Bastard to look towards him and lock eyes. A deadly calm fire burns in his dark pupils and Sanji feels pinned by the glare, consuming him in a wave of heat. Understanding blazes through him, like white lightning striking in a summer storm.

He's brought in his next victim.

* * *

tbc. as always, likes and reviews are greatly appreciated. thank you.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: This chapter has graphic descriptions of violence and references to blood, murder, and rape.

* * *

Chapter Six

Roronoa unzips the bag completely, working swiftly to heave the large man out of the carrier and drag him to the metal chair situated in the middle of the room. Sanji observes his actions, unease pooling in his gut as it dawns on him what he's witnessing mirrors how he ended up in the same position. There's expert proficiency in each of Roronoa's moves, the way he postures the man's body in the chair and the dexterity of his fingers when tightly fastening the leather straps that Sanji remembers too vividly digging into his skin. The final band is wrapped around the man's dark crown of hair. Face obscured, Sanji's only able to see the man's right arm and back of his head from where he's situated in the room.

Green Bastard stands away to look over his handiwork, ripping the black bandana from his head to reveal sweaty, matted hair. Tying the cloth around his bicep, he secures the knot with the help of his teeth. Twisting on his heel, he turns his back to both Sanji and the man in the chair, digging into his pocket and pulling out a set of keys. Opening a cabinet on the workbench, Sanji spots him remove a metal box and a small roll of fabric.

Sanji's view is blocked by Roronoa's sweat-soaked torso, only the tinkling sound of objects being moved around in the metal box is heard in the expansive room. The man finds what he needs, the lid to the box closing shut and moves over, pushing a button on the old cassette player to open it.

"Who is that?" Sanji calls out, caving to the thick tension occupying the space. Green Bastard ignores the question, instead shoving the cassette tape into the player and slamming the lid closed. The sound of banjos fills the room and Sanji's surprised to hear the crooning of an ancient country-western singer flow from the speaker. Even though deep inside he knows, his own two eyes witnessing before him the exact circumstances he was in, Sanji can't keep the next question from rolling off of his tongue, "What are you going to do to him?"

Silence.

Remaining unacknowledged, Sanji leans as far forward as he can, trying to peer around his captor's torso to see what he's doing at his workbench. Feet bound by the chains, he resorts to stabilizing himself with one shoulder against the wall and stretching his neck out, craning his head to catch even the slightest glimpse. Suddenly, the glint of a sharp knife is visible and Sanji's pulse quickens, watching the substantial blade appear behind Roronoa and disappear into his back pocket. Handle still exposed, Sanji recognizes the unique design. A Shun Classic. One of the sharpest knives available on the market. If that's the blade Green Bastard held at his throat, Sanji's lucky he's escaped with only a small incision.

Roronoa moves across the room, shooting Sanji a menacing glare as he passes. Sanji feels the man's intensity all the way down his spine. That was a warning. The juxtaposition of fear for himself and concern for the man in the chair tears at him, rendering him unable to look away from the scene. Keeping his breathing even, his eyes follow Green Bastard as he grabs the hose from the wall and tugs it to the center of the room. Turning the nozzle, he sprays his victim in effort to rouse him.

Sanji spies the man's hand move, gold rings sparkling under the naked light bulb, indicating he's stirring from unconsciousness. Music continues humming in the background; Sanji faintly remembers there was a tune playing when Roronoa woke him up in the same manner. His handcuffs rattle, fists shaking with emotion surging through his veins, screaming just how wrong this situation is.

"Detective Roronoa."

Sanji's jaw drops. The victim in the chair recognizes Green Bastard. So he's not just a cop, but a _detective_. The man's voice is deep, syllables slurring as though he's drunk or drugged. Roronoa stands before the chair, hose abandoned to the side and arms folded, staring down at the man darkly.

"Why am I here?"

"Should've been locked up for life. You did this to yourself, Crocodile," Roronoa replies smoothly, expression blank, eyes locked on his prey.

The man – Crocodile – is silent for a few moments. Sanji can hear deep breathing, maybe he's letting the situation sink in. Finally, a small chuckle, "I can make you a rich man, Detective. Won't even speak of this incident."

Roronoa frowns at this, a sharp edge in his voice, "Not a chance."

Sanji's jarred by the laughter barked out by Crocodile. Tugging at his straps, he prods at Roronoa more, "Straight shooter Zoro Roronoa won't take a bribe? You're not as righteous as you think you are, tying me up like this."

Zoro Roronoa. Green Bastard's full name.

"You're the last person to speak of righteousness." Roronoa's voice is biting, resentment stinging with his words. "There's no honor in what you've done."

"What I was accused of doing," Crocodile quickly corrects, "I'm an innocent man. You and Trafalgar pushed that whore against me."

Sanji narrows his eyes in confusion, trying to understand what their vague conversation refers to. Roronoa lowers his arms to his sides, his face flashing a bloodthirsty smirk as he takes a step closer to the chair. His left hand disappears behind his back, towards the pocket that holds his weapon. Sirens go off in Sanji's head, his instincts burning, recognizing Green Bastard is about to take this person's life.

"What are you doing?" Sanji's voice is shrill, desperate to save a complete stranger. Taking a man's life like this is wrong. If Crocodile is guilty of a crime, the courts should handle it. Not Green Bastard's sick perversion of justice. Roronoa's hand freezes and the tension in the room shifts, Sanji spotting Crocodile's head twitch, trying to turn and focus on his voice.

"Who was that? Is that Trafalgar, he in on this too?" he demands, jerking violently at his bindings. "Untie me!"

The interruption has caused a panic in Crocodile, Roronoa's true intent now crystal clear and ready to execute. The dark-haired man begins forcefully shaking the chair, desperately attempting to pull at his bindings. Sanji watches, shocked to see that despite the man's hulking frame, all of his struggling is in vain. The chair remains still and the straps continue to weather, causing the man to thrash more wildly.

"Don't do this," Sanji pleads, pulling as hard as he can on his chains, stumbling slightly with the reminder that they're extended as far as allowed. In an instant, Roronoa's striding towards him, outrage on his face. Sanji feels a strong hand shoving him and he staggers, falling back onto the mattress. Roronoa is over him, wildly yanking the black bandana off of his bicep and forcing it in Sanji's mouth, tying it around his head in a tight knot. Sanji tastes the salty fabric tugging against the sides of his mouth making it difficult to speak.

"Stay out of it," Green Bastard threatens, jabbing Sanji sharply in the chest with a finger.

He rises up and turns back to the chair, hand already reaching to the knife in his pocket. Sanji lunges towards him, attempting to beat him to the weapon but the man quickly dodges, delivering a hard-booted kicked to Sanji's gut. Sanji falls to the ground, wind completely knocked out of him and stares in horror as Green Bastard positions himself behind his victim.

The bandana around his mouth muffles his attempts to scream out for Roronoa to stop. Hastily, Sanji hauls himself off the floor and onto his knees, twisting his bound arms trying to untie the knot around his head. Fingers working the cloth hurriedly, grunts escape his own throat as Green Bastard fists a handful of Crocodile's black hair and reaches around with the knife. The man shakes in the chair violently, pleas for his life falling on deaf ears. Sanji feels the knot loosen and tears at it savagely, shuffling his knees closer to the chair, the chain at his feet rattling at his rebellion.

"Zoro!" he roars, spitting the bandana onto the ground, "Stop!"

Roronoa's elbow jerks, Crocodile's cries turning into gurgles, blood visibly splattering from where Sanji's seated. Green Bastard pulls back his knife, thick lines of crimson dropping off the edge and onto the cement floor. Sanji's mouth agape, he stares as his murderous captor releases his hold on Crocodile's hair and uses the front of his shirt to wipe off the blade.

Zoro's heart pounds with adrenaline. Fucking bastard deserved it. All the way to the end he tried to place blame on others for his crimes. Zoro sets his knife reverently on his workbench before retrieving the hose he earlier tossed aside, turning the nozzle to full power. He sprays the blood towards the drain under the chair before it has the chance to stain the ground too harshly.

Circling the chair he spots Sanji in the same position, on his knees in front of his mattress, hands balled into fists and staring at Crocodile's body in a daze. Zoro flicks the stream of water towards him, splashing his knees to get his attention. Sanji's tears his gaze away from the scene and looks up at him, his deep blue eyes a storm of fear and sadness. Zoro's seen that look plenty of times on the job from bystanders and victims who have seen someone killed for the first time. Doesn't make sense for Sanji. He's a killer.

Storing that unsettling feeling for later, Zoro sighs and turns off the hose, throwing it down for later use. He removes the strap from Crocodile's skull, causing his head to fall forward limply. Sanji keeps his eye on every action but stays in the same position, unmoving and unwavering.

Kicking off his blood-tread boots and removing his t-shirt, Zoro opens the door to the cellar and climbs up to his bedroom. Down the hall, he crosses his empty living room to the large brick fireplace against the wall and peeks his head inside, fumbling to find his lift rod and open the chimney. Spotting his black duffle abandoned on the couch, he swings it over his shoulder and returns to the bedroom. Tossing the bag on the bed, he digs through it, locating what he needs. Rummaging through his drawers, he picks out a few more necessities before descending back to the cellar.

Dumping his load onto the workbench, he locates the manila folder that has Crocodile's copied file enclosed. Twisting towards Crocodile's dead body, he smirks to himself. Case closed. Tapping the file against his palm, his eye lands on Sanji.

Zoro approaches the blond man and squats in front of him so they're eye level. Sanji returns his look silently, searching his face. Zoro notices the subtle stench of body odor and the cook's greasy hair. Must've built up during his time down here. Gripping the file in his hand tighter, he nods his head towards the mattress and tosses the folder on top. Rising up, he makes his way to the furnace on the other opposite wall, corners of his mouth turning up as he hears Sanji's chains shift as he moves back to the mattress.

The furnace is large, taking up most of the wall. It was the hardest piece of customization in his house. Originally a wood furnace, he installed gas lines to it and altered the interior to allow for quicker, stronger heating. Took almost a year to perfect. Now it's the most useful tool he has in his trade. There are only so many ways to get rid of a body unnoticed.

Zoro opens the furnace door and piles in wood, coal, and newspaper from his stack of fodder. Closing it back, he twists the gas knobs, allowing a couple seconds to pass before lighting the pilot. The flames ignite and it doesn't take long for warm heat to start permeating the area. Burning is safest; he only does it at night, completely unnoticed. The furnace stack is attached to his upstairs fireplace's chimney, hidden from the naked eye. The biggest inconvenience is the inferno-like temperature, making the basement truly seem like a level of Hell.

Leaving the furnace to heat up to optimum condition, Zoro glances at Sanji and finds him sitting on the mattress, back against the wall and case file opened in his lap. His head is bowed, shuffling through the notes and pictures. Zoro opens one of his cabinets and locates a bone saw and goggles, setting them carefully on the ground. Tugging the straps from the body's limbs, he lays the limp form next to the tools. Pulling the goggles over his head, he situates them carefully over his eyes before leaning over the body. Saw perched, he starts his task.

The room has heated several degrees, the furnace's fire raging brightly by the time he's finished the job. Muscles pulsing, he removes the goggles and wipes the sweat from his eyes. Stopping only to change the tape on his cassette player, Zoro begins the disposal. One by one, the parts are deposited into the dancing flames.

It's well into the early hours of the morning by the time the body is completely gone. Zoro turns off the gas and allows the burning embers start to cool down. Moving across the room, he picks up his bloodied t-shirt from the floor, needing to burn the rest of the evidence. Stopping by Sanji's mattress, he motions to the closed file sitting on his lap. It must be destroyed with everything else. Sanji lifts the folder and places it in Zoro's outstretched hand but keeps a firm grip, not allowing Zoro to pull away just yet.

"He deserved it."

Firelight dances across his face, features twisted in disgust. Fury emanates him, posture tense. Eyes boring into Zoro, the earlier storm is gone, replaced with smoldering rage scorching fiercer than the dancing flames that consumed Crocodile. Zoro holds the glare unyielding, interest piqued in the change of attitude. For a brief second, he sees himself in the man's livid expression. Years of experience have hardened his approach but that same intense passion burns inside.

Sanji lets go of the file, receiving a knowing nod from Roronoa before he stalks off, returning to the fire and tossing his shirt and the paperwork into the flames. Closing his eyes, he tries to calm the swirling and stirring in his mind, an unfettered frenzy of emotion. What he read in the case notes was inhumane, the way that animal treated those women. Fucking sick bastard.

Sweat drips down his body, the cellar blazing from the heat of the furnace. If he didn't feel utterly disgusting before, he surely does now. Green Bastard is also pouring sweat; Sanji can see the large droplets rolling down his back from where he's positioned. Luckily it's starting to cool off.

The man moves to an open cabinet and pulls out a bucket of bleach and a rag, pouring the liquid over the metal chair and the cement below. The strong smell hits Sanji's nostrils fiercely, causing his eyes to water. Reminds him of when he first woke up in the cellar. Green Bastard begins his scrubbing, making sure any drop of blood is removed from the flooring and sprayed down the drain with his hose. Old folk music continues playing in the background, Roronoa periodically humming along as he works.

Cleaning finished, his captor sits back on the wet ground and inspects his work. Sanji feels slightly impressed at the exhaustive measures; everything he's done seems expertly planned and executed, actions of a man who knows what he's doing and has done so many times before. It's now evident that Sanji was wrong – Green Bastard isn't a shitty killer. He just can't kill _him._

Sanji's thoughts are interrupted by Zoro kicking off his jeans, stripping down to just black boxer briefs. Unsure of what he's about to do, Sanji's body tenses, gripping his thighs tightly as he observes the man's actions. After depositing his removed clothing into the smoldering flames, Roronoa ducks into the tiny closet bathroom. A moment later, he returns to the main room gripping the small bar of soap from the sink's edge. Sanji's used it plenty of times to wash his hands.

Zoro wets the soap with the hose and lathers it, scrubbing at his blood stained skin. Even his thighs are tinged red from the material of his pants being soaked. Sanji turns his head to give him some privacy, jealousy stinging deep inside. What he would give to be able to rinse off.

The sound of a cabinet opening signals the mini-shower is over. Glancing back to Roronoa, Sanji spots him drying off with a towel, one of the many doors of his workbench open. He's got fucking everything stored in there. The man searches through a pile of clothes he brought down earlier, dressing in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Sanji notices there's still a couple items left behind after the man dresses.

Sanji's eyes dart from the clothing back to Roronoa as he picks up his keys from the counter. He starts gathering the tools he has strewn across the bench and locking them away in their designated locations. The tape is removed from the cassette player and the box is placed back in its home. The roll of knives is the only thing left next to the pile of clothes and a second towel. Green Bastard tucks the one he used earlier back into position but removes another before placing the tools away and locking the cabinet.

"Your turn."

"What do you mean 'my turn?'" Sanji questions nervously. His mind briefly flashes to the possibility of being wrong and its now time for his fate.

Green Bastard heads his way, springing open the knife of his black switchblade. Sanji presses his back harder against the wall feeling cornered and wary of the man's intent.

Arriving at the mattress, Roronoa seems to recognize the worry in his face and rolls his eye, "You fucking reek."

Dumbfounded, Sanji glances from Zoro's face to the hose still lying in the floor. Does this mean he's being allowed to rinse off?

The man huffs, agitated at Sanji's hesitation, "Keep stinking up the place, then. Doesn't matter to me."

"No, wait –" Sanji blurts, not wanting to lose this opportunity, "You'll let me clean up?"

Zoro nods, switchblade still in hand and pointed at Sanji, "Any funny business and you're gutted."

Sanji agrees immediately. Truth be told, he just watched the psycho chop a man into pieces and burn the body. Even if it was warranted, he doesn't intend on pissing him off right now. Not while the fire is still crackling.

The man scratches the back of his head, knife bobbing up and down behind his green hair with the action. His dark eye looks between the chains on Sanji's ankles and the cuffs around his wrist, as though he's figuring out his plan of action. Kneeling down on the side of the mattress next to Sanji, he leans in with the knife pointed directly at Sanji's torso.

Sanji instinctually tries to pull away, the knife blade coming right for his chest. Raising an eyebrow, he questions, "What are you doing?"

"Just hold still," Zoro replies, grabbing Sanji's bicep. He jerks Sanji's body to the side and Sanji can feel the tip of the knife tickling the back of his neck. In one swift movement, the knife cuts at the collar and slides down his back to the bottom of his shirt. Roronoa works his blade along the sleeves, severing seams in order to pull the material off quickly. Tossing the crumpled, torn shirt aside, Roronoa stands again.

Sanji's nose twitches, his stench even worse without his shirt to cover it. He watches as Zoro unlocks the end of his chain from the wall, an action he's done many times to let Sanji shuffle over to the bathroom. Sanji rises and follows the man slowly to the center of the room. The end of his chain is snapped to the leg of the chair, locking him in place.

Zoro stands before him and grabs the waist of his pants, dragging the blade down the back and cutting them off, leaving Sanji standing in only his underwear. Bending down to pick up the hose, he twists the nozzle and flicks the stream towards Sanji's thighs, "Leave those on if you want."

Sanji chews his bottom lip. While the idea of standing naked and chained in front of his captor isn't the most appealing, his boxers are disgusting. Decision made, he simply replies, "Cut them off."

Roronoa complies and with a couple flicks of his wrist, the boxers are off and Sanji finds himself completely naked. He watches Zoro for a reaction, but there is none. He busies himself with gathering Sanji's destroyed clothing and dropping them into a pile. Sanji leans down and picks up the earlier abandoned soap from the seat of the chair and starts to lather in his hand.

Zoro closes his switchblade and pockets it, stepping away from Sanji. Sanji notices the man keeps his steely eye locked on the back wall and aims the hose in his general direction, allowing Sanji to treat it more like a shower than a hose down. The water is cold but the cool temperature is welcome in the burning heat of the cellar. Although the cuffs are restricting, Sanji's flexible enough to maneuver his hands to reach all the important places. Bowing slightly, he soaks his hair and scrubs hard at his scalp with the soap, trying to remove all the dirt and grime that's accumulated in the blond strands.

Rinsing his hair of the dirt and soap, Sanji sighs in contentment, glad to feel refreshed. The only issue is his back, his hands unable to reach that side of his body due to their confinement. Green Bastard has been surprisingly couth throughout the whole shower so Sanji tries his luck in asking for help.

"Can you spray my back?"

The man's gaze shifts, dark stare meeting Sanji's. Shrugging, he waits for Sanji to spin around. Sanji's body tenses as the cold stream hits his shoulders and quickly makes its way down to the backs of his shins. He's relieved the water doesn't linger anywhere unsavory. The stream is removed completely, shower time over. He covers his genitals and turns back to Green Bastard but is met with a towel smacking him in the face.

Scrambling to keep the dry towel from falling on the wet concrete, he glares at where Zoro stood but finds he's moved to pick up Sanji's destroyed clothing and deposit them into the furnace. Sanji begins drying his body, starting with his hair and working his way down, again finding himself limited to not being able to reach his back. Zoro is at the other wall now, working on recoiling the hose.

Having dried as much as he can, Sanji holds the towel in front of his waist and glances at the pile of clothes sitting on the workbench. How is he going to get dressed if Green Bastard has him chained? Zoro finishes with the hose and returns to him, picking up the pile of clothes in question. A t-shirt is slung over his shoulder, grey sweats remaining in his left hand.

He motions for the towel and Sanji gives it to him, surprised when the man grabs his arm and jerks him to turn. His movements are rough as he swiftly dries Sanji's back before tossing the towel aside. When Sanji's turned around again, Zoro's got his keys in hand and is bending down, unlocking his ankle cuffs. The man retains a strong hold on his ankle and yanks his foot up, shoving it into the leg hole of the pair of sweatpants.

"What the fuck?" Sanji stabilizes himself by grabbing onto the closest thing – Green Bastard's head – in order to not fall over.

As soon as one foot is through the pant leg, Zoro grabs the other ankle and does the same. Both feet in, he grips the waist of the pants and shoves them up towards Sanji's hands before promptly relocking the ankle cuffs. Sanji clambers to pull the pants up completely, covering his nakedness as fast as he can.

Standing again, Zoro unlocks Sanji's handcuffs and starts the same kind of manhandling, grappling to put Sanji's arms through the holes as forcefully as possible.

"I can dress myself," Sanji sputters, trying to push Green Bastard and takeover.

"You broke my nose. You won't get another chance." Zoro slaps Sanji's hands away and continues his assault, getting both arms in and tugging the neck hole over Sanji's head. The handcuffs are locked back on his wrists before Sanji can get his damp hair out of his eyes.

Zoro unchains him from the chair, leading the way back to the mattress. Sanji shuffles behind, settling onto the bed once the chain is reattached to the wall. The clothes he was dressed in are a little baggy, especially the t-shirt, but they're soft and clean, much better than the rags that were removed. The adrenaline of the night has faded and he realizes he's exhausted, the emotional turmoil finally weighing on him. Lying back onto the pillows, he briefly watches Zoro check on the coals in the furnace before his eyes turn heavy, lulling him into a sleep.

* * *

"How was the trip?"

Usopp's especially jovial for a Monday morning, seated at the break room table eating his oatmeal out of a blue mug.

Zoro shrugs as he takes the chair opposite of him, unpeeling the lid off of his yogurt, "Useless. Dunno why Mihawk sent us there."

Usopp lifts an eyebrow as he takes another bite of his breakfast, "I heard Law tell Luffy the same thing. What's his deal?"

"Who knows," Zoro responds, unfolding his newspaper.

Usopp's voice lowers to a whisper, eyes glued on the door, "I heard about your electrocution victim. Crazy shit."

Zoro grunts from behind his newspaper. He and Law got in on Saturday afternoon, their court case ending that morning. The judge found Wapol guilty; the grin on Sheriff Dalton's face when they carted the Mayor out in handcuffs was priceless. Zoro couldn't blame him, it's always a good day when justice prevails. He and Law checked out of their hotel almost immediately and drove straight to the office, talking with the Sergeant for three hours about the new case.

"Yeah. Crazy."

A companionable silence falls upon them as they both finish their breakfasts, Usopp tapping on his cell phone and Zoro flipping through the pages of the newspaper. No references to missing persons cases. At least, not for Crocodile or a certain blond chef.

Zoro folds up the paper and checks the clock on the wall. Right on cue, Law walks in, red thermos on hand. He doesn't acknowledge either of them as he goes through his routine of adding creamer to his coffee. Satisfied sigh after the first taste and he turns to head back into the hall.

Zoro leaves the room with a promise to visit Usopp later and follows Law to their office. Mihawk is waiting for them when they enter, standing in the middle of the room with some paperwork in hand. Law perches on his chair, setting his thermos on his desk. Zoro lowers himself into his seat, curious as to what their Sergeant holds.

"Welcome back to work, gentlemen," Mihawk greets them, looking up from the papers and handing each of them a copy. Zoro scans the document quickly, eye narrowing at the strange text on the middle of the page.

" _Knowing this, that the law is not made for a righteous man_ ," Mihawk reads aloud, " _but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for unholy and profane, for murderers of fathers and murderers of mothers, for manslayers."_

The room is silent, the words hanging heavy in the air.

"First Timothy," Zoro mumbles, laying the document on his desk. A fucking Bible verse.

Mihawk's heavy stare falls on him, "Yes, it is. This is what our perp wrote in his coded letter."

Zoro catches a perplexed look from Law, his eyes darting away as soon as they meet Zoro's.

"What do you think it means?" Law asks, crossing his legs and lowering his head.

"That's what we must determine. There was no evidence left at this scene, no prints, no DNA. This guy is either incredibly lucky or a true pro," Mihawk answers, arms behind his back and pacing the room. He stops and clicks his heels. "You both must remain available at all times. I will have Lucci assist on this case as much as he can but you two are responsible."

As soon as Mihawk has left the room, Law mutters, "No more social life."

"Didn't have one anyway," Zoro deadpans, reading over the message once again.

Few hours later and Zoro wanders to the opposite side of the building to visit Usopp, an entire wing devoted to the records management area. Mostly case files, their city budget hasn't allowed for the full transition to electronic storage yet. Hundreds of folders litter the shelves, orderly thanks to Usopp. A large counter situates in front of the record room, a sign-out form lying on the counter for proper reporting.

Usopp's relaxed in his chair, feet up on his desk when Zoro approaches, tapping the screen of his phone energetically. Probably playing a game. Leaning over the counter, Zoro watches him for a moment before letting out a low whistle, causing the other man to jump out of his seat and shove his phone into his pocket.

"God, you scared me." Usopp visibly relaxes, standing to open the restricted access door. Only a limited number of people are granted permission to the file area, anyone else has to be escorted. "Thought you were one of the big bosses."

"Need to stay more alert," Zoro chides, slipping into the door and leaning against Usopp's desk. An open file catches his eye, Zoro glancing down and recognizing a case he and Law worked on last year. "Some light reading?"

"Gets so boring down here," Usopp complains, sitting back into his chair and tugging his phone out of his pocket. "Did you get Luffy's snap?"

That stupid app. Luffy's obsessed, constantly taking pictures and videos of himself and anyone else close by. Zoro never opens the damn thing; he only downloaded it to get Luffy to stop bugging him.

"I'm sure I did but I ain't watching it."

Usopp clicks through his phone before holding it up, screen facing Zoro. A short video plays of Luffy taking out a Groggy burger in about three bites. It's actually kind of impressive.

"Oh wait, wrong one." Usopp retracts the phone and taps the screen a few more times. Zoro leans over his shoulder, watching the flash of pictures and videos cycle rapidly before Usopp settles on a different one. It's Luffy again, this time playing with a puppy at what looks to be an animal shelter. The little black dog licks his face repeatedly, mouth grinning wide the whole time. Zoro sniggers as he reads the caption on the video.

 _Traffy's BIG SURPRISE._

* * *

Sanji stares at the furnace across the room, dark and cold as it sleeps. No one would ever guess that just two nights ago the flames raged and consumed the body of another man. Sanji himself wouldn't have ever believed it had he not witnessed the disposal with his own two eyes. Even more concerning, he finds himself completely agreeing with that horrible man's demise.

It makes him sick to remember the things he read in the case file, graphic descriptions of the horrors uncovered at the police scene. The full testimony of a broken woman who was found beaten and raped by that bastard Crocodile. Two others dead, autopsy findings showing they suffered similar fate, only they didn't survive to tell their sides of the story.

The thick file was stuffed with court documents full of legal jargon and official reports. Sanji mostly understood the gist, summons and warrants. A written plea, the arrest report. Crime scene photographs and testimonials. Buried beneath was an upsetting discovery, a piece of paper crumpled as though it was held in a too tight grip. Across the official report was the outline of a jury decision to acquit the man for his sins. A 'not guilty' clearance back into the world to harm others.

Rolling from his side to his back, Sanji stares at the ceiling, inhaling a sharp breath. The clothes he was dressed in still have a distinct smell, a delicate mix of laundry detergent and cologne. The black t-shirt is soft and worn, feels like an old favorite hand-me-down. There's a small hole in the armpit, likely from overuse. The sweatpants are baggy on him; even with the drawstring cinched as tight as possible they still fall low on his hips when he moves.

The method behind Green Bastard's madness makes more sense now. It's a strange feeling but Sanji's almost relieved to know that his captor had true motive with the Crocodile case. But does he kill innocent people too? Sanji's innocent, he knows that much for sure, but he's still down here locked up like a prisoner.

That's just the thing - he's _locked_ up. Zoro showed no hesitation in slitting that slimy bastard's throat. It was executed flawlessly. The moment Crocodile was hauled into the cellar his fate was sealed. Green Bastard was in complete control of the situation, even when Sanji got involved. Having spent the last two days replaying the events in his head again and again, every logical angle points to the same conclusion: Sanji must only be alive because Zoro's got an inkling of doubt regarding his guilt.

Sanji certainly doesn't condone murder, but if anyone deserves to be forcibly removed from this planet, it's motherfuckers like Crocodile who get away with raping and murdering innocent women. Sanji would normally say let the court systems run their course but that obviously failed in this specific case. Zoro's words from their first encounter play in the back of his mind, " _Do you think I'd do this without proof? I'm not a fucking murderer."_

The thought is comforting; Sanji knows he's innocent and if any part of Zoro feels the same, there's hope in getting out of here alive. The problem is how can he convince his captor to let him go? Sanji frowns, brows knitted together. The case file for Crocodile was as thick as a book, every detail screaming guilty. Zoro went through the effort of capturing Sanji and dragging him into the cellar. He stated he has some kind of proof. Sanji's gut twists with unease, causing him to sit up and hold his head in his hands, tugging at the roots of his blond strands. How can there be evidence supporting a crime he didn't commit?

Movement rattles above, soft thumps indicating Green Bastard's finally home. The man works such weird hours – it's hard to predict. Sanji chews his bottom lip, wishing for the hundredth time he had some form of clock.

Lifting his head from his hands, he cracks his neck, patting his hair down from the earlier assault. It's getting long in the back, he had a hair appointment scheduled for last Wednesday. The barber's probably annoyed that he didn't show up.

Sanji glares up to the ceiling above. Green Bastard's sure taking his sweet time coming down here. He needs to take a piss. The bucket was cleaned up yesterday and although it was absolutely disgusting, Sanji can't argue with its convenience.

Standing, he bends to crack his back before straightening out, smoothing his t-shirt. A small tug to get the sweatpants pulled up completely, uncovering the chains at his ankles. The metal agitates his skin making him wish he had some socks. The ones he wore previously were discarded with the rest of his clothing.

Rolling his neck, he gives a little hair flip to get his long fringe out of his face. Staring squarely at the door as he waits for Zoro to enter. The sounds of footsteps indicate he should be arriving any moment. The locks begin to unlatch and Sanji's bladder starts to complain, the promise of relief just on the other side of the door. Much to his chagrin, the man stops in the midst of his fumbling and Sanji can hear the sound of his rumbling voice, as though he's talking to someone.

Sanji raises a curious brow, straining to eavesdrop on what Green Bastard might be saying. The door suddenly swings open, the man sauntering in with a bag over shoulder and a plastic sack in hand. He closes the entryway with his foot immediately, as though he's trying to keep something out.

Sanji hears him mutter something about a 'damn cat' as he sets his load down on the workbench counter, moving to grab the wooden stool form the corner and situating it in front of his normal station, to the left of the cassette player.

"Hey, can we go ahead to the bathroom? Really have to go here," Sanji calls over, shuffling from foot to foot, his urge to urinate stronger than he thought.

The man doesn't turn from where he stands, keeping his back to Sanji. His movements do pause, however, thumb jabbing over his shoulder in the direction of the chair situated in the middle of the room.

"Drain's right there."

Sanji's eyes widen in disbelief, glancing from Green Bastard to the drain he's referencing. There's no fucking way he'd try to drop his pants and piss into that, not with a perfectly good bathroom on the opposite wall. Face twisting to a mix of disgust and annoyance, Sanji huffs, "There's literally a toilet _right over there._ Do you seriously want to have to rinse piss off the cement?"

Zoro stops shuffling through his workbag, spinning to face Sanji. He's bouncing slightly on his mattress, expression agitated. He has a sound point, even if he's being lippy about it. "Don't get your panties in a wad," Zoro sneers, strolling to unhook the chain from the wall, "Didn't realize you were about to piss your pants."

Sanji follows behind Green Bastard, smiling to himself at his small triumph. He goes through the motions of relieving himself quickly, making sure to scrub his hands well since it should be dinnertime. Once he's locked back into place, he decides to dare another request from the Green Bastard, willing to take the hit if the man becomes miffed.

"What time is it?"

Sanji notices the bruising around Zoro's eyes and nose has faded to yellowish blotches, a sign that his broken nose is healing well.

"Dunno. Does it matter?" Green Bastard dismisses, much to Sanji's disappointment.

Zoro returns to his workbench, this time reaching for the sack and removing two Styrofoam take out containers and some plastic cutlery. Sanji perks up at the sight, his mouth salivating at the thought of a hot meal. Leaving one on the counter for himself, Zoro brings him the other with a cold bottle of water.

Sanji opens the lid of the container immediately, finding an order of Chinese food. The bottom of the Styrofoam warms his lap, steam rising from the meal. Never before would he have thought an order of beef and broccoli with white rice would look like such a gift. The first bite is exceptional; he savors it on his palate, chewing slowly.

Zoro settles on the wooden stool, opening his laptop and booting it up before starting his own dinner. He smirks as he hears a satisfied grunt from behind him. Sanji's apparently enjoying his meal. Zoro digs into his own food and eats zealously. The screen of his computer requests his password and he stops to type it in before twisting on his stool to face Sanji.

Sanji watches Zoro as he eats, surprised when the man turns to look his way. A laptop is set up behind him, a stack of papers on the other side. Normally his visits are short, tonight it seems as though he means to stay. Zoro opens his mouth as if he's going to speak but is interrupted by the sound of scratching on the other side of the door. Sanji's eyes follow Zoro as he stands from the stool and opens the door, the small black and white cat entering the room.

She rubs against Zoro's legs before hopping up onto the counter, laying right on the cassette player and staring directly at Sanji. Zoro gives her a small pat on the head before returning to his seat, back once again turned to Sanji.

Sighing as he finishes his meal, Sanji sets the trash aside and observes in silence as Zoro rustles through papers, organizing documents across the workbench. It seems work related, the tan folder giving it away. It's thin, not very much paperwork inside. Maybe it's a new case.

Zoro feels Sanji's gaze on him, watching him as he moves. His mind returns to Saturday during the Crocodile kill, the look in Sanji's eyes when he witnessed the man die. Though he could just be a good actor, the storm of emotion Zoro saw is hard to imitate. Deep in his gut he knows that was a true reaction from the other man, one that's left him unsettled and puzzled. He's reviewed the surveillance footage three times since that incident, scrutinizing every detail of Sanji's case to figure out where he may have went wrong. He's left teetering on the edge, unable to kill a potentially innocent man but unwilling to cut loose a plausible murderer. The blood would be on Zoro's hands either way. He's treading water, trying to determine whether it's better to sink or swim.

The copies from his current case are organized in front of him, the pictures of the electrocution victim stacked neatly to the side. He doesn't want to get ahead of himself but the violent method of kill and preachy, coded letter screams the MO of a serial killer. It's only a matter of time before another body is found.

Zoro reads the decoded message once again, squinting at the words. Fucking religious zealots, always out for their own agendas. Opening up his work email, his eyes shift to the corner of the screen, reading the time.

Without turning his head, he speaks just loud enough for Sanji to hear, "9:32."

* * *

tbc. thanks for the read and the support.


	7. Chapter 7

hi friends.

after a long hiatus this story has been updated however I am discontinuing my use of ffnet and only publishing to ao3. If you wish to continue reading (and I hope so much you do) then please find me over there under the same handle - riotoftime

everyone's comments/faves/reviews/feedback is so appreciated and I hope we can continue dialogue on the other platform. I enjoy replying to comments so feel free to drop me a line.


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